Secrets and Second Chances
by Dragongirl16
Summary: Sequel to the Road Not Taken. Time Travel AU fix it.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Summer vacation,_ Harry leaned back against the grass and closed his eyes. _Second year, again_, his stomach made an audible growl. He pushed the hunger aside. _How things change and how some things stay the same_.

As Harry had hoped, Dudley's second bedroom had been given to Harry when he had returned to the Dursley household, _much_ to Dudley's displeasure. His cousin was intent to dole out the punishment for this act via Harry's skin – Harry had had a black eye from his cousin's fist by the end of the first week home. Harry should have known better, should have threatened them with magic sooner, but what was done, was done, he supposed.

What was new, however, were the locks on the doors and the cat flap at the bottom of the door. Last time that hadn't happened until after the disastrous dinner party. This time they had been installed before Harry had even gotten to the house.

He might have guessed the continual stream of owls may have had something to do with the Dursley's increased fear. That was another change from the first time – no one was stopping his mail. Instead Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon intercepted it and burned the letters in front of Harry, laughing the entire time.

The one time Harry had tried to stop them, Uncle Vernon had exploded – but that might also have been from Harry's unwise decision to try and scare them with made up magic words. Uncle Vernon's cuff to Harry's ear had made him dizzy for hours and a nasty bruise to pop up along his cheekbone. _Miserable man_, Harry pushed up his glasses to rub at his eyes. _Miserable, sodding prat of a man. I cannot wait until I can use my magic without getting hauled in front of the Wizengamot. Merlin, that's all I need. They'd dose me up with truth serum and then everything would be so cocked up I might as well Obliviate myself and save the world the trouble._ He made a face and pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside.

So the months had dragged on. The letters for Harry had slowed from a near constant stream to one every week, if that. Harry had recognized a few of the owls – and one letter even came in the regular post – Hermione's. Aunt Petunia almost let Harry have it by accident, but Dudley's piggish hands had ripped the letter away from Aunt Petunia and run to burn it straight away.

Needless to say, Harry was reminded daily of just how miserable his life had once been. And now was, again. _The things I do to save the world_, he rolled his eyes at his melodramatic thoughts. _Next I'll take to draping myself with scarves and acting as batty as Trelawney_. _Buck up, kid. You've got at least four more years to go_.

Harry had finished his chores for the day and was trudging inside when he heard the telephone ring. He was scraping off his shoes on the porch when he heard his aunt's voice change pitch.

"Who is this? How did you get this number? Boy! Boy, come _here_!"

Harry scrambled into the house. Aunt Petunia had taken up Uncle Vernon's name for him since the start of the holidays – Harry hated it, which, he supposed, was why she kept calling him 'boy'.

Aunt Petunia swiped the phone at him as he got close. "Who have you been giving this number to?"

"I haven't given it to anyone."

"Don't lie, you miserable brat!" Petunia screeched. "A girl – _a girl_ – is on the line asking for _you_, just how –"

"Hermione?" Harry reached for the phone – and then yelped as his Aunt Petunia smacked his hand with the receiver.

"So you _do_ know her – I bet she's a _freak_, just like you," Petunia seethed. Harry cradled his throbbing hand to his chest. "You tell her we don't speak to freaks in this house. You tell her that and you tell all your little freak friends that they are not to call or send post to us anymore! I am tired of burning your rubbish!" She thrust the phone at him. "Tell her that right now!"

Harry took the phone with his uninjured hand. "Hello?" He kept his eyes on his seething aunt.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice sounded strange.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Oh, _Harry_…"

"Look," Harry winced at his aunt's deepening scowl. "It's – you should probably not call again, okay? I – I'm sorry I haven't returned anyone's letters, but tell them I'm okay, and I'll see them all in September."

"Harry – Harry, wait, Theo's here, and we were –"

"Theodore Nott is at your house?" Harry blinked in shock.

"Well, he was in the neighborhood and we were both worried when you didn't return our letters and –"

"Boy," Aunt Petunia snapped.

"Look," Harry cut Hermione off. "I'm sorry, okay? Please just – tell everyone that and that I'm all right –," he broke off with a yelp as Aunt Petunia swatted at him, causing Harry to skitter back and bang into the table.

"Harry? Harry!"

"Hermione, please don't call again," Harry saw Uncle Vernon's large frame enter into the kitchen. "I have to go."

"BOY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I AM GOING TO BEAT YOU SENSELSES, YOU WORTHLESS FREAK."

Harry smashed the receiver down as Uncle Vernon thundered along. Vernon's threats were mostly words, but his yelling played havoc on Harry's already taut nerves.

After the disastrous phone call, Harry made sure to be right on time to start dinner. He had taken over the cooking for Aunt Petunia that summer, along with the gardening. He was glad for it, since it meant he could sneak more bits and pieces when his relatives weren't looking. His usual dinner was two pieces of buttered bread – with salt, he always made a face at his aunt's weirdness – and a glass of water. He would have preferred milk – Merlin knew he needed it – but his aunt was stubborn. Harry could drink all he wanted from the garden hose, but inside he got one glass of water at dinner and that was all. He got a bit of cheese and a slice of toast in the mornings. Anything else he had to steal.

_I'll be even smaller than I was at this rate_, Harry threw himself onto his bed as his aunt locked him in for the night. He had never been tall, but Harry could have sworn he was taller than this the last time around at his age. It had been a constant source of teasing at the Auror division. Harry had learned to deal with the taunts – none of them had half the malice of Dudley's jeers, so they had been easy to ignore – and in the end, a lot of times his smaller frame had been his advantage in the firefights and skirmishes he'd been in.

_There's a silver lining in everything,_ he remembered Molly Weasley saying. He felt his smile die. The Weasleys. Ginny. Merlin, what was he going to _do_?

Harry rubbed at his eyes and tried to push the worry to the back of his mind. _Things were already different, eh_? He tried to calm the panic gathering in his gut. _Maybe Lucius Malfoy won't slip Ginny the diary this year. Maybe Draco's found out about the plan – or – or_…

He forced his mind to quiet and tried to sleep. He had a long list of chores to finish the next day and he needed all the rest he could get.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, not me. Parts of the original dialog have been lifted directly from the books - this in intentional and I in no way am claiming them as my own. Ta, enjoy.

Chapter Two

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me," Harry muttered to the weeds. The hot July sun beat down on his neck and shoulders, turning him another shade darker. He had taken to stripping his shirt off when out from under his aunt's gaze. The sun felt good on his skin and it was cooler without the clothing – plus Aunt Petunia had given him just three of Dudley's old shirts to wear for the year; if he didn't want to smell his own stink all night, he had to take care not to get them dirty.

As he remembered, the dinner party for the Masons was winding up to a fever pitch that week. Harry had ducked out as soon as possible to avoid his aunt's nervous cooking in the kitchen. Harry did have to admit, for being such a miserable woman, his aunt sure knew how to cook. Harry could smell the roast pork from the garden – the aroma was making his mouth water. _Maybe I'll be able to sneak some of it tomorrow morning_. His stomach rumbled at the thought. He _dreamed_ about roast cutlets, cooked chicken breasts, drumsticks, just – _meat_, in general. He hadn't had a slice since the school feast – if he didn't count the burnt bits of bacon he managed to snatch from time to time. Which he didn't, thank you very much.

It was half past seven when Aunt Petunia let him in. "Get in here!" She shouted at him from the door. "And walk on the news paper."

Harry scuttled inside, bolting down his dinner under his Aunt's scowling gaze. He managed to avoid Uncle Vernon's notice as he escaped to his room. He made sure to shut the door quietly – he'd had his fill of Uncle Vernon's shouting that Harry had to be perfectly silent, thank you – then turned and jumped.

"Dobby," Harry gasped out, hand pressed to his chest.

Dobby's bat-like ears and bulging green eyes were the same as he remembered them. For a long second, grief and regret spread through Harry. He blinked and pushed the threatening memories away with mental hands. "Hello, Dobby," he whispered and sank to the ground.

"Harry Potter!"

"Shh!" Harry winced as the noise downstairs faltered. "Not so loud, Dobby, please."

The house elf danced back and forth in front of him. "Mister Harry Potter knows this elf's name! Oh, Harry Potter, such an honor –"

"Quiet, Dobby," Harry winced as he heard Uncle Vernon's rumbling voice float up the stairs.

"I have upset Mister Harry Potter!"

"What's wrong, Dobby?" Harry scooted closer to the elf. "Talk softly, please. And stop moving."

"Please, you say _please_ –"

"Dobby. Please."

Dobby's bulging eyes blinked a few times as he froze. "Yes, sir, Mister Harry Potter, sir."

Harry swallowed a sigh. "Why are you here?" He thought he knew why.

Dobby jiggled in place. "Dobby brings a message from Mistress Malfoy to Harry Potter, sir!"

Harry's breath caught. "Narcissa Malfoy," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "What does she say?"

"She says, Mister Harry Potter, sir, that you are to take great care, Mister Harry Potter, sir, that you should be wary of foes in strange places and to thank Mister Harry Potter, sir, for his friendship with Master Draco."

Harry sat back, considering. Narcissa Malfoy, to Harry's knowledge, had never been a Death Eater. She had stayed neutral to the war and all of the horrors her husband had participated in – until her son had been threatened. Then Narcissa had acted, to save her son's life, at the risk of her and her husband's lives. Harry knew Draco was Narcissa's world – but why would she send Dobby to warn him, now, instead of…

Harry blinked again. _What if she _had_ tried to help me the first time around_? _How in the world would Dobby have known how to get to me, how to_ –

"Mister Harry Potter, sir?"

"Thank you, Dobby," he blinked again, focusing on the house elf. "Do you know why Narcissa Malfoy sent you with this message?"

The house elf shook its head. "No, Mister Harry Potter, sir. All this elf knows is that Mistress Malfoy has been busy keeping Master Draco away from the bad men this summer. Mistress Malfoy won't let this elf anywhere near the visitors Master Malfoy has in the west wing of the house."

Harry let out a sharp breath. _Who is she protecting Draco from_? "Thank you, again, Dobby, for-"

"You says _thank you_ to this elf, oh, sir."

"Dobby, hush," Harry's breath caught as he heard Uncle Vernon's tread on the stair.

"Boy," Vernon growled just outside his door.

"Yes, sir, sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry clamped a hand over Dobby's mouth. The house elf's eyes bulged.

"You _will_ be sorry, if you don't shut up!" Vernon's threat was a sharp hiss and a thump against the door. Then the man retreated.

Harry slumped. "Dobby, please go home. Thank you for the message. Tell Mrs. Malfoy that."

"Yes, sir," Dobby hesitated, eyes flicking to the door and back. "This elf wants to thank you, too, Mister Harry Potter, sir."

"Dobby…"

"Young Master Draco is much nicer to Dobby now," Dobby let out a loud sniff. "Master Draco wants to learn all about magical creatures now. This elf thanks you, Mister Harry Potter, sir." Dobby then disappeared with a crack. There was a startled yelp from downstairs.

Harry spent the time between Dobby's disappearance and his uncle's return thinking. _How things have changed_, he mused, after his uncle had delivered a number of substantial smacks to Harry's ears. _And how some things get worse_, he made a face at the ceiling. Vernon had never done more than box his ears, in Harry's first childhood. Threatened to do much worse, plenty of times, but had never delivered on that promise. Until now.

_Things must change_, Harry considered. _But when I see Ollivander again, I'll make sure to smack _him_, for thanks_.

* * *

Harry was down to a piece of bread and a glass of water for the foreseeable future. His aunt caved on Uncle Vernon's punishment a week in, but only let him have a slice of cheese in the mornings to go along with his bread. He still had bread and water for dinner as well, with some left over vegetables from the dregs of their plates. He never thought he would relish the taste of cooling, buttered peas, but he did. Oh, he did.

_Think positive, Harry_, he tried to focus on his chores. _At least I won't get warned by the Ministry this time around_.

Still, it was hard to be cheerful when his insides were aching with hunger. _Bloody Dursleys_, Harry rubbed at his face. _Bloody Dumbledore, too, _he set his jaw against the rush of conditioned guilt. Harry knew how much the old wizard had on his plate; he knew Dumbledore meant to have Harry behind the strongest wards he could find, but…_but what good does strong wards do when the attitude of my relatives makes me want nothing to do with the wizarding world at all_?

Harry pushed the thoughts away yet again and tried to sleep. It came in bits and starts, full of disjointed, ugly dreams, some about his adult life, some just made up horrors from his subconscious mind.

He was in the middle of a particularly vivid nightmare, a mix of memory and horror, of Harry trapped behind thick steels bars as Hammerstein slaughtered everyone he had ever loved just out of Harry's reach, spraying him with their blood as the dark wizard slit their throats – when a sound woke him.

Harry flailed, feeling weak and miserable as the noise came again. He stumbled over to the window, rubbing sleep from his eyes, to see Fred and George staring back at him from the seats of their father's flying car.

"Harry!" Fred waved at him.

Harry pushed the window up and stared at the twins. "What are you doing here?" He pressed close to the bars.

"Mate – what'd you do to your eye?" George peered at him.

Harry touched the fading bruise. Dudley had pushed him down the stairs – Harry wasn't sure who was surprised more, himself or Dudley, at the resulting injuries. His cousin had been insufferably proud ever since. Aunt Petunia had said nothing at all.

"It's nothing," Harry shook the memories away. "What are you doing here?"

"We got Hermione and Neville at the house," Fred said, passing him a rope. "Tie that around the bars."

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," Harry told them as he secured the knot.

The twins glanced at each other. "Don't worry," Fred said after a moment. "Get your things and stand back."

Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig. His things were all locked in the cupboard under the stairs, so he grabbed the few sets of clothes he had and tied them together using Dudley's old jacket as a makeshift bag. By that time, the twins had gotten the bars off the window and had backed their flying car up to the opening.

"That all, mate?" Fred took the bundle.

"No, my things are all downstairs."

"Go get 'em."

"I can't. I'm locked in."

The twins shared another long look. Harry had never been able to read their silent exchanges, before, and that had not changed this time around either.

"No problem," George said with a nod to his twin. "Out of the way, Harry."

Fred and George climbed cat-like through the window into Harry's room. George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock on Harry's door.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they're a bit slow." There was a small click and the door swung open.

"So, we'll get your trunk and head out. Where is it?" George whispered, rising from his crouch and pocketing the hairpin.

"In the cupboard under the stairs – watch out for the bottom step, it creaks," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

Harry rounded up what was left in his room and tried to get Hedwig's cage as close to the window as possible. As he went to help the twins get his trunk up the stairs, he heard Uncle Vernon cough.

At last, panting, they reached the landing, and then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car, while George and Harry pushed the trunk to him.

Uncle Vernon coughed again.

"A bit more," panted Fred. "One good push."

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered.

"Help me with Hedwig's cage," Harry whispered back. George climbed onto the windowsill, turning to take Hedwig. George's hand slipped, rocking the cage and causing Hedwig to let out a frightened screech.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!" thundered Uncle Vernon.

Harry pushed at George, whose eyes had gone wide. There was a desperate scramble as George and Fred tried to keep George from falling out of the window, as well as getting Hedwig into the car. The landing light clicked on as George tumbled into the front seat, Hedwig secured in back. Fred was reaching for Harry when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door – and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an enraged bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.

Fred had a hold of Harry's arm. George reached and took Harry's other hand. They pulled as hard as they could.

"Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away. HE'S GETTING AWAY!"

The twins gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon's grasp. Fred went tumbling into the front seat – "Floor it!" George howled – as Harry scrambled the rest of the way into the car.

Harry glanced back to see Uncle Vernon's furious expression as the car shot away into the night.

"What's with _that_, mate?" George hung over the front seat, staring at Harry.

"Can I let Hedwig out, first? She hasn't flown for ages."

George handed the hairpin over and walked Harry through how to use it on the lock. Hedwig soared out the window a few minutes later, gliding alongside them like a ghost.

"So?" Fred demanded from the front seat.

"So, what?"

"Harry."

"No, what part do you want me to explain first?"

"We invited you over, mate," George rolled his eyes. "A bunch of times, but you never answered. Then Hermione wrote us and we found out you'd not written to anyone."

"They – my relatives – locked up Hedwig," Harry looked away. "I never got your letters."

"Never got 'em? But…"

"They burned them."

"Well, that's dodgy," George said after a small silence. "Why'd they do a daft thing like that?"

"They – magic scares them. That's all," Harry shook his head. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"Of course, mate," Fred and George shared yet another glance. "We have a bit of a full house with Hermione and Neville over – they wanted to come along, but Ron was watching them like a hawk. Say, Mum and Dad would love to have you stay over for at least a few days – we can have a bit of a pick up game in the paddock, don't you think, George? And then we can…"

Harry let the twin's chatter wash over his like a familiar blanket.

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," Harry tuned in to hear George say sometime later. "And he _has_ been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room. I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge, if you know what I mean. You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard.

"Does your dad know you've got the car?" Harry moved forward to drape his arms over the front seatbacks.

"No," Fred flashed him a grin. "He had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

"What does your dad do at the Ministry?" Harry wanted to keep them talking.

"How'd you know he works at the Ministry?" George twisted around.

_Damn_. "You told me once, didn't you?"

George studied him for a moment. "Must have, I suppose. Dad works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

"The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office? What's that?"

"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antique shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare – Dad was working overtime for weeks."

Harry had forgotten this story. "What happened?"

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic – it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office and they had to do memory charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up."

"But the car?" Harry prompted.

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it and puts it back together again. If he raided _our_ house, he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes. Just as well, it's getting light." A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.

Fred brought the car lower. Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Catchpole."

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

"Touchdown!" Fred yelped as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard. Harry's stomach clenched as he turned to get a look at the Burrow.

It caused shivers to spill down his spine. The house was the same as it remained in his memories – before Hammerstein's wizards had destroyed it down to the foundations. _One more thing I have to save_, Harry clamped his hands down on the back of the seats.

The Burrow still looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," said George.

"It's wonderful," Harry whispered. _It always was_.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," Fred said as they got out of the car. "And wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then we'll distract Mum with a story about how you showed up in the night and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right, good plan" said George. "One problem."

"What's that?" Fred asked. George pointed.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

_Molly_, Harry's throat closed up. The Weasley matriarch hadn't taken sides in the divorce, keeping the Burrow open for Harry to visit his children – _his_ children, no matter what _anyone_ said. Molly and Arthur had died in the defense of their home and grandchildren, perishing amongst the rubble and flames that had been their home.

"Ah," said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, glaring. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of a pocket.

"_So_," she said.

"Morning, Mum," said George, a wide smile on his face.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" Mrs. Weasley said in a deadly whisper.

The twins cowered back as their mother began to shout.

"Beds empty! No note! Car gone – could have crashed – out of my mind with worry – you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy –"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" Mrs. Weasley prodded Fred's chest with a finger. "You could have _died_, you could have been _seen_, you could have lost your father his _job_."

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who skittered back, nerves strung taut and fragile. _I always did hate getting yelled at by her_.

Mrs. Weasley's expression gentled. "I'm very pleased to see you again, Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast. Young Neville and Hermione should be up now, as well."

Harry glanced at the twins, who made shooing motions at the door. Fred caught his mother's arm before she could follow Harry; he glanced back to see both boys talking to her in hushed voices, arms waving. _Getting themselves out of trouble_, he grinned and slipped inside.

He took a deep breath of the familiar scent of the Burrow. The kitchen was still small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. Harry slid onto a chair, feeling the warmth of _home_ settle over his shoulders for the first time it seemed in years. _It has,_ he realized, thinking back. _It's been more than a year – almost two – since the Burrow was destroyed and I _–

He closed his eyes for a long moment, pushing down the sharp ache in his chest. His grief had dulled to a steady ache he carried in his heart, but sometimes, some things would hit him like a stunner, bringing it all back, bright and searing, as if it had happened just a moment before.

Harry opened his eyes and focused on the clock on the wall opposite him. It had one hand and no numbers. Written around the edge were things like Time to Make Tea, Time to Feed the Chickens, and You're Late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking and One Minute Feasts – It's Magic! The old radio next to the sink was humming away, announcing that up next was, "Witching hour, with the popular singing sorceress Celestina Warbeck!"

Mrs. Weasley came in with the twins a few minutes later, sniffing suspiciously. Fred and George plunked down on either side of Harry. "All right, mate?" George threw an arm over Harry's shoulders.

"You talked yourselves out of de-gnoming the garden, haven't you?" Harry grinned.

"How did you –"

"We didn't –"

"Harry!"

He turned away from the twin's shocked expressions at the chorus of familiar voices. Neville and Hermione bounded down the stairs and barreled toward him. Harry flinched back against George's arm, but let Hermione throw her arms around him in a hug. "We were so worried and we didn't know what to do and…"

"Hermione," Harry gave her a squeeze. "I can't breathe!"

She pulled back, eyes bright. "Well, we _were_."

"Sit, sit," Mrs. Weasley called as she puttered around the kitchen. "Food is almost ready. You'll need it," she gave the twins a flat look.

Harry glanced at Fred. "No luck on getting out of trouble, then?"

Fred gave him a strange look and then grinned. He shrugged. "It's nothing."

"Hey, Harry," Neville clapped him on the shoulder.

"Neville," Harry grinned at the other boy. "Happy belated birthday, by the way. I meant to get you something, but I…" He shrugged. "Mind a late gift?"

"Don't worry about it," Neville smiled back at him. "And happy belated birthday to you, too."

"Harry, are you _sure_ you're…"

"I'm fine. Better," Harry was quick to cut Hermione off. He could see Mrs. Weasley frown every time she glanced at him. Harry knew he had to look suspicious – there was no way to hide how thin he'd become, or the way his wrists had become bony, nor the black eye from his cousin. Harry hoped Mrs. Weasley would accept the same explanation that he'd given the twins.

"This is wonderful, Mrs. Weasley," Neville said as the Weasley matriarch filled everyone's plate.

Harry tucked into his, careful to keep to small bites, knowing he would be sick if he tried to eat too much or too fast.

There was a shuffle in the hall. Harry looked up to see Ron and Ginny step into the kitchen. Ginny froze, eyes wide as she stared at the table, then gave a squeak and ran off. Ron's expression collapsed into a glower as he marched to the table.

"That was Ginny," George said, leaning into Harry. "Our sister. She's been talking about you all summer. Driving little Ronnickins mad, to boot."

"What's _he_ doing here?" Ron demanded as he sat. "I couldn't have Seamus or Dean over, but Mr. _Harry Potter_ is allowed to come over as he pleases –"

"Ronald Weasley, that is enough," Molly sat his plate in front of him. "You know perfectly well that your friends are welcome at any time."

"Oh, _sure_."

"What was that?"

Ron hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes on his plate.

Harry's throat was too choked to say anything. His first sight of Ginny in the Burrow had hit him in the gut – _Merlin, how I loved her. _He closed his eyes against the rush of memories.

"Harry, dear, you do look exhausted. How anyone could – why don't you go have a nap, dear, and –"

"No, no," Harry opened his eyes and turned a smile on Molly. "I'm fine, really."

"Well," she set her hands on her hips. "You've barely eaten a thing. A growing boy like you should –"

"I'm full. Really. It was wonderful," Harry interjected.

"Mate, that's not even half," Fred frowned at him.

"I'll be sick if I try to eat more, I'm really sorry," Harry felt like a heel. "I'll help you in the garden," he told the twins.

"But Harry –"

"We'll help, too," Neville broke in, nudging Hermione.

"That's very sweet of you, dears, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject, yes, yes…"

George groaned as she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. Harry almost did, too. Lockhart, he wanted to roll his eyes. _I'd almost forgotten about him, too_.

Fred protested. "Mum, we _know_ how to de-gnome the garden!"

"Oh, Lockhart is just marvelous," Molly said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book…"

"Mum _fancies_ him," said Fred.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it!"

Harry escaped with the grumbling twins, Hermione and Neville hot on his heels.

The garden was large, exactly as Harry remembered it. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it – there were plenty of weeds and the grass needed cutting – but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen before spilling from every flower bed and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Hermione told the twins.

"We've seen the things they think are gnomes," George said, bent double with his head in a peony bush. "Little fat Santa Clauses with fishing rods…"

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered and George straightened up. "_This_ is a gnome."

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.

"Oh, my," said Hermione.

Harry wrinkled his nose at the creature. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby bald head that looked like a potato. George held it at arms length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet. Then George grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head and started to swing it in great circles. Seeing the shocked look on Hermione's face, George added, "It doesn't _hurt_ them – you just have to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnomeholes." He let go of the gnome's ankles: it flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

"It really doesn't hurt them," Neville assured Hermione. "I've been helping Gran get rid of ours for years."

They bent to it – Hermione being careful with hers until one bit her hard on the hand and she sent it flying. Harry tired fast after his first few, the world moving in lazy circles as he sat on the porch to catch his breath.

"There, that's the last of them," George said, just as the front door slammed. George perked up. "He's back! That must be Dad!"

Harry got to his feet as the twins hurried into the house. Hermione had a frown on her face as she herded Harry inside – he was sure she wanted to sit him down and interrogate him – Neville too, by the looks of the other boy's thoughtful frown.

They came in to see Mr. Weasley slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He looked younger than Harry remembered, a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel worn.

_Arthur,_ Harry had to blink fast and draw in a sharp breath. Harry had liked to pretend, when he was at Hogwarts the first time, that James Potter would have been as good of a father that Arthur was. _Is_, Harry corrected himself.

"Dad!" The twins bounded up to the man.

"What a night," Mr. Weasley groped for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned, can you believe it?" Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" asked Fred.

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," Mr. Weasley said between yawns. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms' problem, thank goodness, not mine."

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" Hermione sounded bewildered.

"Just Muggle baiting," Mr. Weasley made a face. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking – they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even it its staring them in the face. But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe…"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?" Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes flew open, even as he slid down in his chair.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while _really_ he was enchanting it to make it _fly_."

Mr. Weasley blinked. "Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that – even if – er – he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. There's a loophole in the law, you'll find. As long as he wasn't _intending_ to fly the car, the fact that the car _could_ fly wouldn't –"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in the shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly in the first place!"

"Harry?" said Mr. Weasley. "Harry who?" He looked around, saw Harry and jumped. "Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Fred and George have told us so much about –"

"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" Mr. Weasley turned to the twins. "Did it go all right? I – I mean," he faltered as Mrs. Weasley let out a growl. "That – ah – was very wrong, boys, very wrong indeed…"

"Arthur Weasley!"

"Let's leave them at it," Fred nudged Harry's shoulder. "Come on, you're with me and Fred. We'll show you our room."

They all slipped out of the kitchen and down the narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry caught sight of Ginny's bright brown eyes before it closed with a snap. Harry pushed the threatening memories away with a ruthless mental shove. _Not now. I can't – not _now.

"That's Ginny's room. Hermione's with her. Neville's in with Ron and his room is up at the top. We're just one more flight up."

"You'll have a nap, right, Harry?" Hermione trailed after them.

"She's right, Harry. You do look knackered," Neville said.

"Yeah," Harry gave them a sheepish smile. "Sure."

"Good. We'll catch up, after," Hermione called, as she pulled at Neville's arm to head back down the stairs.

"Here we are," Fred said. Harry stepped into the narrow room. There were bunk beds pushed against the wall, and a trundle bed pulled out from the bottom bunk. There were Quidditch posters on the walls and a battered bookcase full of spell manuals pushed up against the wall by the window.

"Thank you," Harry told the twins. "I don't think I said that yet."

"No worries; it's what friends are for," Fred pushed at Harry's shoulder. "Have a nap before Mum tries to slip you a draught. She can be frightfully pushy."

"I will," Harry grinned at them. "Just…thanks. Really."

George rolled his eyes at Harry and pulled Fred from the room. Harry set his glasses on the shelf near the bed and crawled on top of the covers, falling asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Harry woke to the smell of food wafting up the stairs. He rolled onto his back, blinking bleary eyes at the ceiling.

_The Weasleys_, he sorted through muddled thoughts. _Is this – are my kids – _he took in a sharp breath and covered his face with his hands. _No, no, remember Harry. You went back, back to save them. To save everyone, remember, _bloody hell. He rubbed at his face. _Come on. Get your wits about you_.

He let his hands drop. He could hear voices coming up the stairs. He had always loved the Weasley house – it was as different as possible from Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and orderly while the Weasley house burst with the strange and unexpected. It had been his ideal house for later in life, after he had married Ginny. Ginny, however, had had a much different idea in the layout of their home.

Living with Ginny and his children had been a little like living in the Burrow – but habits ingrained by his relatives did tend to make Harry a bit of a neat freak. Ginny was forever rolling her eyes at his constant cleaning. Harry never minded it – he had the more structured schedule of the two of them and he knew how tired Ginny was from practice all the time, when they were first married. Besides, Harry enjoyed cleaning – not that he would admit that except under torture.

Cleaning things at the Dursleys had been meant as a punishment, and yet, the _way_ he chose to clean things had been entirely up to him. In a house full of strict rules and watchful eyes, his _choice_ of how he cleaned the bathroom, which products he had wanted to use, what tools – all of that had been up to him. It was one of the few things in the Dursley household he had had control over – and that enjoyment endured.

The door opened, giving Harry a start. Fred poked his head in, wincing when he saw Harry's startled expression. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. Mum wanted to see if you were hungry."

Harry's stomach answered for him. "Starving," Harry grinned.

Fred's smile wavered, but he pushed the door open before Harry could ask. "Come on. Mum's been cooking all afternoon."

Harry grabbed his glasses and stumbled down the stairs after Fred. The whole Weasley family was gathered in the living room and around the kitchen table. Hermione and Neville were helping Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen as Ron and Ginny set the table.

"Harry, lad," Mr. Weasley called. "Good, good, you're up. I've just been having the most fascinating conversation with Hermione here about this Muggle postal service they have…"

And thus life at the Weasley house took off. Harry fielded Mr. Weasley's questions about Muggle things all throughout dinner, Hermione helping him to explain them. Ron still glowered at them and Ginny turned red as a tomato every time Harry so much as glanced in her direction.

Needless to say, Harry had a bit of a headache by dinner's end. He knew he also was worrying Mrs. Weasley with his small portions – still, Harry kept his meal light, not wanting to sick up in front of the Weasleys.

After dinner, Hermione and Neville absconded with him outside.

"Harry, we've been worried _sick_," Hermione burst out once they were in the yard. "What _happened_? Why are you so – so – skinny!"

"My relatives are tight with money," Harry settled onto the grass by the pond.

"But _Harry_…"

"It's fine, Hermione."

"It is _not_."

"It will have to be," Harry sighed. "No one will take me from the house, I know that. I'll just have to plan better, is all."

"What are you on about – of course we can get you out of there, Harry."

"Hermione," Harry pushed his bangs out of his eyes. "I can't leave the house until I've spent two weeks under that roof every year."

"But _why_?"

"Oh," said Neville. "Oh, I see."

Hermione whirled on him. "You see? What do you see? What?"

"Hermione," Neville put a hand on her arm. "Calm down. It has to do with You-Know, ah…_him_."

Hermione rocked back on her heels. "What do you mean?"

"You know about this?" Harry frowned at Neville.

"It's the same for me," Neville settled on the grass next to Harry. "It's a protection, Hermione. A way to keep orphaned – or nearly orphaned – children of the wizarding world protected from the enemies of their parents."

Hermione sank to the ground in front of them. "You – you both…"

Harry met Neville's look. "My mum and dad were attacked, driven mad," Neville fiddled with a blade of grass. "My gran snatched me up into her household so that I'd be protected from any other attempts on the family. It's probably the same, only Harry's got little direct blood-related family, so he went to his mother's sister's house."

"Exactly," Harry said. Neville sent him a small smile.

"But – but if Harry's relatives are…"

"They're fine," Harry cut Hermione off. "Really, Hermione. Please. Let it drop. I'm out now and it'll be fine."

"But…"

"Gran would like you to come stay with us. You, too, Hermione, if you'd like," Neville jumped in. "She let me come visit the twins for a few days, but I think she knew we were planning something."

"I have to go home in a bit," Hermione chewed on her lip. "Could I – I could stay for a few days, if that's all right?"

"You would really want to?" Neville ducked his head.

"Of course I would!"

"I'm sure Gran would love to have you stay over. She quizzed me all about you all and how I kept my grades so good," Neville looked proud. "She might even let Theo and Draco come over – well, maybe not Draco, but we can see."

"That would be delightful!" Hermione perked up. "I tell you I had such a turn when Theo showed up at my door."

"Do tell me about that," Harry cut in. "Theo in the Muggle world. Really."

"I _know_," Hermione started to laugh. "We'd been exchanging owls, you know, mostly about the homework we were assigned – we'll have to get started on that, you know – and then he asked me about Muggle maps and how to navigate a regular city. I didn't even think about it – what would a wizard do with a Muggle map, really? And then, a few days later, there he was!"

Harry put a hand over his face as he laughed along with Neville.

"I do have to apologize, though," Hermione sobered. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble with that phone call, Harry."

"You didn't," Harry was quick to assure her. "You just gave them a bit of turn."

"But they sounded so _mad_."

"They just yell. It's all bark and no bite – unless Uncle Vernon's sister is there with her dogs. They're vicious."

"Is that how you got that black eye?"

Harry winced, having forgotten all about it. "No. I got that because my cousin is a bloody prat." He watched his friends exchange a long, silent look with dread.

"What _was_ Theo there for, anyhow?" He prompted before the conversation could go places Harry wasn't ready for.

Hermione let out a snort. "He wanted to see a television," she rolled her eyes. "Remember when I was telling Draco about all the things Muggles have that wizards don't? Apparently it made an impact – Draco couldn't stop fuming about it, which got _Theo_ interested, I guess."

"Did he like it?" Neville asked. "I've never seen one, but now I kind of want to."

"He was _fascinated_," Hermione threw a hand in the air. "I had to stop him from trying to take it apart. Then he wanted to see all the other 'Muggle contraptions' as he called them. My mum was quite shocked – _then_ she got a call and Theo almost leapt out of his skin!"

"How _did_ you get my number?" It had been bugging Harry.

"Local directory," Hermione gave him a smug smile. "I called up the operator, gave her the name and address of your relatives and she gave me the number."

"Well done," said Neville.

"Thank you," she said.

Mrs. Weasley's voice called them to come in for dessert. Harry trailed after his friends into the house, a small knot of warmth growing in his chest. _I can do this, I can have my friends and my family and all of it. I can do this. I really can._

* * *

Harry was up before dawn. He slid out of the twins' room on silent feet. In the kitchen he found Mrs. Weasley communing with what looked like her first cup of tea.

"Harry, dear," she blinked at him. "Whatever are you doing up so early?"

"I'm an early riser," Harry chewed on his lower lip as he edged closer to the woman. "I can help with breakfast, if you like. I'm very good at it." Molly had forever been on Ginny to be a proper wife, he remembered. Harry sometimes thought Ginny's flat refusal to cook anything more than toast came from her mother's constant pressure. Harry had been more than happy to take up the duty. He liked cooking for his family. Even if he sometimes burnt the roast.

"Oh, no, no, you're a guest," Molly smiled at him. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please," Harry slid into the chair next to her.

The morning was still and calm. The pink and purple sky brightened at a steady pace outside the window. In the Burrow, all was tranquil, the steam rising from Harry's cup of strong, bitter tea as he watched the dawn.

Harry caught Molly giving him a few looks, but the woman seemed content to sit in silence with him as they sipped their tea.

Harry relished the chance. When he'd been older, married to Ginny and over for the holidays, he would slip out of bed early as well. Sometimes he would even beat Molly to the teapot – it became a sort of game over the years. They rarely talked during their morning, content instead to just enjoy the silence and the peace that the dawn brought over the house.

After a while, Harry began to hear the noise of people moving about the house. "Well, I should get started," Molly finished off the last of her cup. "Sausages and hash, Harry?"

"Yes, please," he watched as she patted the table once, then was out of the chair and off to work.

Harry spent the day with Neville, Hermione and the twins, generally running about the paddock as Fred and George showed them their favorite places around the Burrow. The few run-ins they had with Ron made Harry's heart sink – the youngest Weasley male could hold a grudge like none other, Harry had to admit. Harry had just hoped that somehow Ron's ire had lessened by the holiday break.

The next day, Neville's grandmother came to pick them up. "My, my," the elderly witch had said when she saw Harry and Hermione. "Yes, I do see what you mean, Molly."

Harry exchanged a look with Neville, who shrugged.

"Well," Mrs. Longbottom turned to them. "Off we go, then. Thank Mrs. Weasley, Neville, like a good lad."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Neville said, face going red.

"Thank you for letting us stay over," Harry added. He added a smile and wave to the twins.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione echoed.

"It's good to see manners in today's youth," Mrs. Longbottom said. "We'll be traveling by floo, dears. Do you know how?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said.

"What's floo?" Hermione asked.

"A wizarding travel option, like the Underground, only faster," Harry told her. He saw the adults staring and felt a flush creep up his neck. "I went with you and Neville to King's Cross through the floo last year, ma'am, remember?"

"So you did," Mrs. Longbottom pursed her lips. "And you are quite right, young man."

"You must remember to speak clearly," Mrs. Weasley added.

"Neville, demonstrate for them," Mrs. Longbottom shooed him over to the fireplace.

"And you _must_ remember to get out at the right gate – but if you've spoken clearly enough that shouldn't be a problem. Merlin, to lose one of you in the system…Your relatives would be furious."

"Mine wouldn't mind," Harry said as Neville took a pinch of the floo powder and tossed it into the flames. "Dudley would think it was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don't worry about that."

There was a moment of silence and then Neville called out, "Longbottom Hollow!" And he was gone.

"Oh, my," Hermione breathed. "Look at that."

"Now, you next, young Harry," Molly said.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said.

"Make sure to keep your elbows tucked in, and your eyes shut as much as you can. The soot does get everywhere."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry repeated and took a pinch of powder from the offered flowerpot. He tossed it into the flames, watching them turn green. He stepped in. "Longbottom Hollow!" he enunciated

Harry had never liked floo travel. It felt as though he was being sucked down against a drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast – the roaring in his ears was deafening. He tried to keep his eyes open, but the whirl of green flames made him nauseous. He squinted through his glasses at the rush of fireplaces, until, finally, he was shot out at the right one.

"Merlin," Harry muttered into the soot-covered hearthstone.

"Here," Neville gave him a hand up. The other boy had a stiff brush for Harry's clothes.

Harry stepped off the hearth just tine time for Hermione to arrive. The witch was _not_ pleased by the ride. "I hit my elbow!" she exclaimed as Neville helped her up.

"That's why you have to keep them tucked in," he said.

"That is _dangerous_."

"Not really."

"But," Hermione was cut off by Mrs. Longbottom's arrival.

"Well, enough of that," Neville's Gran said. "Come along. I'll show you your rooms. Molly is sending your things through, now."

Harry heard the roar of the floo as they followed the woman out of the room. Harry had never been to Neville's house before. He had always assumed it was just another house, much like any other house Harry had seen in the wizarding world. Harry had forgotten, though, that the Longbottom family was pure-blood.

The Longbottom Hollow wasn't opulent like the Malfoy estate, but Harry counted a number of large rooms on the ground floor before they went up the paneled oak stairs. Large animated paintings dominated the walls, mostly hunting scenes, but a few portraits were scattered here and there.

The upstairs hall had a long stretch of dark wood floors covered by a dark red and blue runner. Curio tables claimed the wall space between doors, filled with expensive-looking knickknacks and other delicate porcelains Harry was afraid to touch.

Harry ended up sharing Neville's room while Hermione got the guest room. Harry took in the space – Neville was Quidditch crazy like the Weasleys. He had a few pictures on the wall, mostly of his family. A large bookcase was dominated by books on plants and a series of popular children's books from the wizarding world.

"Gran will have us down for supper soon," Neville said. "Then I – I could show you and Hermione the greenhouses, if you like?"

"That would be wonderful," Harry told the other boy. "Come on, let's get Hermione."

* * *

With just the three of them, Harry, Neville and Hermione tended to stay close to the house. Neville took them on a long walk through the rough, wild land just outside the wizarding village. Harry's breath had caught at the low, rolling hills covered in bright summer flowers and the green scrub brush. Neville was content to point out all of the native plants and their properties – Harry realized that once Neville was away from school – and Snape – the young Gryffindor had a spectacular mind for potions ingredients.

Theo visited for dinner the day Hermione had to go back to her parent's house. Mrs. Longbottom insisted they stay in the house and kept close the entire time Theo was there – the Slytherin didn't seem to pay the woman any attention, more intent on quizzing Harry and Hermione on the various "Muggle contraptions" he had been looking up. Theo also passed along a message from Draco – the Malfoy heir was bored and wanted to know, in detail, what they had been doing over the summer.

Then it was just Harry and Neville on their own. Harry was content to help Neville in the greenhouses, which was Neville's main chore.

"You don't have to, Harry," Neville said as he pulled on his gloves.

"No, I like to garden. My relatives make me spend most of my time out weeding, as a punishment. I let them think that, so I don't have to go scrub the garage floor. Again."

"Young wizards should all know how to garden," Mrs. Longbottom said from behind him. Harry jumped and turned to see the older witch holding out a pair of gloves. "Enjoy the sunshine, boys. It does a body good."

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry said and took the gloves. Then they escaped to the greenhouses and the long, beautiful rows of plants and flowers.

A few days later they got their Hogwarts letters. Harry rolled his eyes at the long list of Lockhart's books they were supposed to buy.

"That man," was all Mrs. Longbottom had to say on the subject.

"Do you think Flourish and Blotts will have used copies?" Harry asked, thinking of his vault.

"Flourish and Blotts? Perhaps," Mrs. Longbottom said. "But Midnight Tales are sure have a few, or Bell, Book and Candle."

"Who?"

"Two used bookshops in the alley on the other side of Knockturn Alley," Mrs. Longbottom was making biscuits.

"I thought we – ah. That Knockturn Alley was…"

"Full of tramps and thieves? Of course it is," the woman slipped the biscuits into the oven. "But a few bad elements does not an entire body make. The world is far more than just _good_ and _evil_, young Harry. You would do well to remember that."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry had to look away. _What mistakes could I have avoided if someone had said that to me the first time_?

They made arrangements to meet up with Hermione at Gringotts on the nineteenth. If Harry was lucky, he would be able to slip away to speak to Ollivander sometime during the day. Harry had been meaning to write the man the minute he had gotten free of the Dursleys, but time had gotten away from him.

They used the floo to connect with a public hearth at the corner of Knockturn Alley. Mrs. Longbottom had a brush with her to rid them of the worst of the soot. Then she straightened her hat and marched into the alley, leaving Harry and Neville to scramble to catch up.

When Harry had been younger – well, the first time he was younger – he had thought Knockturn Alley was little more than a short spur off Diagon Alley, full of the darker souls in the wizarding world. His first year as an Auror disabused him of that notion. Yes, Knockturn Alley held most of the undesirables, as well as a number of pubs where the local alcoholics drank from morning to night. But there was much more to the alley than Harry had been led to believe.

The number of shops that Harry had been told that contained evil, dark things turned out to all have legitimate reasons for having those objects. The shop of giant spiders was more of a pet store for the adventurous soul, once they got past the darkened facade and signs. The shop also catered to a number of non-human elements, many of which also used the shop as a type of butcher's block. The goblins, Harry had learned, had much praise for the grades of spider meat the shop contained.

The shop with the shrunken heads and other items of dubious nature was more of a tourist trap, full of fake merchandise that was used to scare and tantalize the few brave souls who wandered in from Diagon Alley. The shop that held the poisonous candles turned out to have instructions included that specified how they were to be used for pest control – Harry had become a regular customer in the long hot days of summer when the mosquitoes were thick in the air. He had never mentioned where he'd gotten the candles that kept the pests from their porch or home. He knew Ginny would never understand.

As they trailed Neville's grandmother through the alley, Harry also realized that Knockturn Alley was far longer than most would acknowledge. Most maps Harry had seen gave it a short length, but they were wrong. Past the poisonous candle shop, a sharp turn right looked as though it led to a dead end. But it wasn't. The pub at the end was called the Double Doors, which, as it turned out, it was. The alley ended on one side of the pub, but a different alley opened up on the other.

"The Street of Flowers," Mrs. Longbottom told them. "Keep up, now."

Harry stared as much as he could as he trotted in the woman's wake. The people around them were a mix, a few disputable characters from Knockturn Alley, but there were also families full of children going from shop to shop. Most of the retailers, Harry noticed after a while, were all second hand businesses, thrift stores and consignment shops. Sure, there were a handful, if less, of places on Diagon Alley that catered to the families whose budgets were tight, but Harry had never known _this_ place existed, until now.

_I was never given this area to patrol_, Harry mused as he caught sight of an Auror pair on their rounds. _I wonder why_.

"Mrs. Longbottom?" Harry trotted to her side. "Why aren't there more people here? This place is wonderful." Harry peered into the window of one of the many junk shops.

"The Street of Flowers is one of those areas that the Ministry would rather disappear," Mrs. Longbottom said. "Silly, really. My husband's great-grandfather made his fortune on this street, as have many others in our family. There is no shame in it, despite what _other_ families would say. Working your way into affluence, in my opinion, is much better than being _born_ to it."

"But…"

"Why are there not more people in the shops?" Mrs. Longbottom huffed. "Most families who shop here, young Harry, can only find the coin to outfit their children for school right before term. Also, many of these families do not send their offspring to Hogwarts or any other older wizarding schools. No, only those who can afford the tuition, or have a legacy for their descendants, may attend schools like Beauxbatons, Hogwarts or Durmstrang. Those who cannot afford tuition, receive a scholarship or secure financial aid, go to the trade schools here in London."

Harry stumbled over a loose paving stone. "What, really?"

"Yes, indeed. My husband's great-great grandfather helped found the first trade schools – but sent _his_ son to Hogwarts and bought a legacy for all his line. Pure-blood politics and the corruption of gold," she made a rude sound. "Come along. Our family has been patronizing the Street of Flowers for generations. I will not let that fail, even now."

She led them to a robe shop. Harry peered around at the goods, all solid, sturdy cloth, none of the shiny, showy fabrics Madam Malkin preferred.

"I, uh," Harry edged towards Mrs. Longbottom. "I need to go to Gringotts, ma'am. All I have is a few Muggle pounds and some sickles."

"Oh, bother, that's right," Mrs. Longbottom shook her head. "Neville, stay here so Sally can measure you. Come along, Harry. There is a Gringrott's entrance two doors down."

Harry trailed after her. "Ma'am, if – if you say the Longbottom family shops _here_, how – how come I met you last year in Diagon Alley?"

Mrs. Longbottom stopped and looked at him. Harry edged back, but stopped when she laughed. "You are a quick study, aren't you, Potter?" She tapped her chin. "You're right. Last year we were on Diagon Alley, for Neville's dress robes. The only inn worth staying at is Tom's in the Leaky Cauldron, sad to say. For everyday things, however, the Street of Flowers is the place we normally shop."

"I…see," said Harry.

"Come, come, let us get your things," the woman said and strode away.

They went to the bank where Harry grabbed a few galleons from his stack, more determined than ever to keep his purchases small and tidy. Then it was a whirlwind of clothes, potions ingredients and many more bits and bobs they would need for the school year. Harry kept a keen eye on the other shoppers – he recognized none of the families or children, but more than one recognized him. No one rushed them, however, for autographs or the like; most got a shocked look on their faces, then a brilliant smile for him, before letting Harry be a peace.

_I rather like this area_, Harry thought. _No mobs_.

Then it was time to meet up with Hermione in Diagon Alley. Mrs. Longbottom had their purchases safe in her clutch as they waded their way back through the twists and turns of Knockturn Alley and back out into the press of people that were gathered at the intersection near Gringotts Bank.

"There's Hermione!" Neville nudged Harry's side. Harry looked up to see their friend standing at the top of the white flight of stairs to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.

"There you are! Hello, Mrs. Longbottom, nice to see you again. Are you going to Gringotts?"

"No, we're all set," Harry said.

"My mum and dad are here as well, if, ah, you don't mind?"

"I would be delighted to meet them," Mrs. Longbottom said.

"There they are," Hermione waved to a dazed couple that had just exited the doors. "They were just exchanging their Muggle money."

"Of course."

"How _are_ you two?" Hermione turned to Harry. "Are you eating more? You look healthier. Are you?"

"I'm loads better," Harry smiled at her. "Really, Hermione. You worry too much."

She made a face at him, but by then her parents had made their way to her side.

"Ah, hello," Mrs. Granger was a kind-looking woman with the same bushy brown hair as her daughter. Harry's throat tightened as he looked at his friend with her family – _Hermione_, he blinked fast and looked away. _You were so brave. I'm not sure how many other people could have erased themselves from their parents' memories and relocated them to another _country_, just to keep them safe_.

"…all right?"

Harry turned back to see the Grangers staring at him. "Um?"

"He's a good lad," Mrs. Longbottom said and turned back to the adults. "Is this your first time in Diagon Alley?"

"No," Mr. Granger's expression was solemn as he let his gaze rest on Harry for a long moment. "We came with Hermione last year. The literature we were given, along with Hermione's introductory letter from the school helped immensely."

"Well, shall we go? School supply lists seem like they are getting larger and larger every year," Mrs. Longbottom shook her head.

They let the adults roam on ahead. Hermione dropped back with them, content to follow in their wake. "So what have you been doing since I left?"

"Gardening," Harry grinned.

"Harry."

"No, really. I like it and Neville lets me help."

"We've been on long walks around the countryside," Neville added. "Oh, I should have shown you the standing stones, Hermione. I completely forgot."

"That's all right."

"Maybe…maybe next summer?"

Hermione beamed. "I'd like that."

Mrs. Longbottom was the perfect guide for the Grangers as she led them down Diagon Alley. Harry noted how people got out of Augusta Longbottom's way – either out of fright from her rather menacing hat or her last name, Harry wasn't sure.

The last stop of the day was at Flourish and Blotts. Harry's heart sank at the large crowd that had gathered outside the shop – among them, a very familiar red-headed clan.

"What's this, now?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"There's an author here," Hermione pointed at a large banner that was stretched across the upper windows. "See? It says Gilderoy Lockhart will be signing copies of his autobiography _Magical Me_ today."

"He's not dead yet, how can he put out an autobiography?" Neville asked.

"He's Lockhart," Harry snorted.

"Harry," Hermione scolded. "He's – he's an author, Harry," she had a faint blush to her cheeks. "He's written almost the whole booklist."

"He's a great," Harry bit back the insult he wanted to spit out and shook his head.

"Well, there's no reason for people to crowd so," Mrs. Longbottom said. "Still, we do need to get your books, Hermione, yes?"

"Yes," Hermione bit her lip.

"Let's see if we can get in, then."

The crowd was made up mostly of middle-aged women and young girls, all holding a copy of Lockhart's book to their chests. Harry, Neville and Hermione were able to slip inside, Harry leading the way with his smaller, more agile frame. Mrs. Longbottom and the Grangers had stopped to say hello to Mrs. Weasley.

Inside a long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Lockhart was signing his books. Harry showed Hermione where the used stacks were, slipping out of direct line of sight from Lockhart and his fans.

"See? It's not new, I know, but sometimes you have notes in the margins that can help with our studies."

Hermione hummed in the back of her throat. "Well, I suppose it's not cheating, exactly."

"More like tutoring, when you think about it," Harry nudged her arm. "It's like time-traveling, in a way. A person from the past is helping us learn more in the future!"

Hermione laughed. "That's an idea, Harry. Wherever did you get it? You know there's no such thing as time travel."

Harry ducked his head to hide his grin. _If you only knew_…

"Harry!" Fred popped up at the end of the aisle. "There you are, mate. Hello Neville; hello Hermione!"

"Fred!" Neville beamed at the older boy.

"All set with your gear, ickle second years?"

"Oh, come off it," Hermione snorted.

Fred grinned. "Come on, then. We've found Lee and we were going to the junk shop if you'd like to come with us. Get away from all that," Fred rolled his eyes as an older woman let out a sharp squeal as Lockhart said something to her.

"Yes, lets," Harry said. Fred led them out of the aisle and into the main body of the store. They were almost past the press of the crowd when Harry heard Lockhart exclaim, "It _can't_ be Harry Potter!"

_Not again_, Harry wanted to groan. The crowd parted around them. An arm yanked him around, causing Harry to flinch back into Fred.

"Steady, Harry," Fred put a hand on Harry's shoulder. The nameless woman who had grabbed Harry shrank back, hands off him.

Harry turned to see Lockhart striding forward. Harry's face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly. Lockhart had shooed Fred away before claiming Harry for his own.

"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page!"

Harry had hated this man – still hated him, point of fact. Harry didn't _want_ to be on the front page, had never wanted to be there in the first place. That sticking point had been one of the first cracks in his and Ginny's marriage – Ginny loved her reporting job, loved the press, the buzz of a busy party, the fancy robes and the glamour of being photographed by the press. Harry had hated it and the difference had been the basis of many of their earliest arguments.

_Ginny_, the old pain still made his stomach clench. _Oh, Ginny._

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts as Lockhart let go of his hand and threw an arm over Harry's shoulders, yanking him to the man's side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lockhart waved to silence the crowd. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for quite some time!"

Harry spotted a familiar blond head in the crowd, even as he tried to wiggle, discretely, from Lockhart's hold.

"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today," Lockhart continued on, blithely ignoring Harry's escape attempts, "He only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge -," the crowd applauded. Harry rolled his eyes. "He had no _idea_," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, "That he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

_This time I'll _help_ Snape be rid of you_, Harry vowed.

The crowd cheered and clapped. Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart – all of which he'd already bought. Staggering under the weight, he made his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room. He turned to find himself next to Ginny Weasley, even as the rest of his friends struggled through the crowd to get to his side.

"Here, please," Harry tipped the books into her cauldron. "Take these."

"But – but – but…"

"I already have my set and I think Lockhart would have a fit if I pitched them," Harry couldn't look at her, directly. He just – he couldn't.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. Harry turned to find himself face-to-face with Ron.

"_Famous_ Harry Potter," said Ron. "Can't even go into a _bookstore_ without making the front page?"

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that," Ginny spoke up at last.

"What are you up to with my sister? Giving her your books? Why? What are you trying to do, _Potter_, you –"

"_Ron_."

"As much as I'd hate to interrupt a family row, you're drawing stares," said Draco Malfoy.

Ginny's face went scarlet. Ron's face puffed up, eyes bright with rage as he turned. Harry twisted around to see both Draco and Nott- Theo, Harry amended – standing behind them with Hermione and Neville.

"You," Ron pitched his own books into Ginny's cauldron. He started towards Draco, but Harry jumped in front of him.

"Look, just wait," he tried.

"Move it, Potter."

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

Harry saw Draco flinch. They turned to see Mr. Malfoy pushing his way through the last of the crowd.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids…I hope they're paying you overtime."

"Father, please," Draco was cut off by a sharp glance by his father.

"Apparently not," Mr. Malfoy said, plucking Ginny's used copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transformation_. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizardry if they don't even pay you well for it?"

"_Father_."

"Draco," Lucius snapped. "_Silence_."

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizardry, Malfoy," said Mr. Weasley.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy. Harry could see Mrs. Longbottom, along with the Grangers, making their way through the crowd. Harry also saw Hagrid's large form trailing behind them. "The company you keep, Weasley…and I thought your family could sink no lower…"

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying. Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell books came thundering down on all their heads. There was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" From Fred and George. Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; then Draco was there, "Father, stop, _please_!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all –

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up," Hagrid was wading towards them through a sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a split lip and Mr. Malfoy had a bruise forming around his eye. Malfoy was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book – and that was when Harry realized that Malfoy had planted the journal.

_No,_ Harry started, unsure as what to do. _Do I try to take it? What do I – how can I_ –

"Here, girl, take your book. It's the best your father can give you," Malfoy shoved the tome at Ginny and stalked off. "Draco, come!"

_Too late_, a voice in Harry's mind whimpered. _I'm too late, again_. Then he sucked in a breath. _I'll find it, later. I won't let Ginny be hurt, this time around_!

"I – am so sorry, thank you, Hagrid…"

"_Draco_!"

The blond winced. He looked at Harry, who gave him a wry smile and a nod. Harry knew Draco had had nothing to do with Tom Riddle's diary. Draco darted a glance around, even as his father bellowed his name once more, and gave Hagrid a brief hug and then bolted for the exit. Harry saw Theo roll his eyes at them all and follow in Draco's wake.

Hagrid had a bemused expression on his face as he lifted Mr. Weasley from the books. "Yeh should have ignored him, Arthur. Old Lucius is rotten to the core, no doubt. Young Draco, though, shows some promise, I have to say. Nothin' like his father, that one, I'll have yeh know…"

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them from leaving. One withering glare from Mrs. Longbottom got him to back off.

The adults rounded up the children as they were hustled out of the store. They ended up on the corner, near the ice cream shop.

"A _fine_ example to set for your children, Arthur. _Brawling_ in public, _what_ Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought…"

"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report. Said it was all publicity."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned away as the adults huddled together, talking. He caught sight of Ollivander's sign. Heat flared through him.

_Ollivander_, Harry clenched his hands into fists. _I _have_ to speak with him_.

Harry glanced at the adults, and then edged close to Neville. "Hey, I have to go talk to someone. Would you cover for me?"

Neville blinked at him. "We – what? Alone? Harry…"

"Please, Neville. Just five minutes. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"To Ollivander's. Please, I'll be just a moment."

Neville bit his lip. Hermione frowned at him, obviously listening in. "All right," Neville said, even as Hermione drew in a sharp breath. "But no longer than five minutes."

Harry beamed at him and bolted, seeing that the adults were still busy reassuring the Grangers that the antics in the bookstore were the exception, not the norm, in wizarding society.

The bell over the door to Ollivander's tinkled as Harry pushed into the shop. The dim light and dust were undisturbed. It was quiet in the shop, the noise from the street muffled by either good insulation or spells.

"Mr. Potter," came Ollivander's soft voice.

Harry turned, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Ollivander was right behind him. "I have some questions."

The gleam from the man's glasses hid his eyes. "Ask, then."

"You said that in order to keep my memories this time around, I would have to do things differently."

"Yes?"

"But…the results were the same. Mostly."

A small smile touched Ollivander's mouth. "There are many paths to one goal, Mr. Potter. You will find that time does not like to be altered, in any way. It will force you onto the same paths you once took – however, it is _your_ duty to find a way to guide the path of time to a different result, if you wish to change the future that you saw."

"But…"

"Your life has changed, has it not?"

Harry rocked back. "Yes."

"And the pain restricts you from following the same paths as you have taken before."

"But I'm still friends with Hermione. And Neville and the twins and –"

"Is it the same friendship as last time?'

Harry paused. "No," he frowned. "No, it's…different."

"Thus, another path to the same end."

"But when I try to befriend Ron – and what about Ginny – and my _children_ –"

This time Harry saw the glow flare in the man's eyes. "Different paths to the same place, Mr. Potter. You were willing to make a sacrifice to keep safe all those you love."

"But if I'm cut off from Ginny, then my children will never _live_."

"Will they, Mr. Potter? Would you sentence yourself to the heartbreak you know will come, merely in order to ensure that the children who come from Ginny Weasley's womb come to call you father?"

Harry felt as though he'd been slapped. "How- how did you…"

"My family, as I told you before, is entwined with time, Mr. Potter."

"But…they are _mine_."

"No, Mr. Potter. They are not."

"I don't _care_ about the paternity tests! They were _mine_," Harry felt the threat of tears burn his eyes.

Ollivander took a step forward. "Mr. Potter. All those who came before will come again – not always as they were, but their souls are still the same. One way or another they will live again – or would you risk their lives, simply to reenact the events that broke your heart and destroyed your world, simply so you would be able to claim them once more?"

Harry's legs gave out. He stared up at the man. "This is the price?"

Ollivander knelt in front of him. "Yes."

"I'll never – they were my children – they _were_," his spoke past the lump in his throat.

"The life you had will never come again," Ollivander tone was gentle. "But the children you love _will_ live again."

"Without me."

"They were born without you in the first place, Mr. Potter."

Harry sagged, letting his head drop down. His hands were curled into fists on his thighs. "If I do this, they have a chance to live."

"Yes."

"I have a chance to stop Hammerstein."

"Yes."

"But without them," _the reason I came back_.

"Perhaps," the man lifted a shoulder and let it fall. "And perhaps not. The permutations of all that you change can bring about _many_ things. But I can assure you of this – they _will_ live."

_The choices we make_, Harry remembered Dumbledore telling him once. _Define us._ Hope stirred in his chest.

Harry raised his head and met Ollivander's gaze. "It's too late to go back, isn't it? Too many changes have been made."

Ollivander's answer was one slow nod.

Grief and hope caused Harry's throat to go tight. "They will live?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. They will."

"And maybe – maybe…I'll be able to call them my own again?"

"There is always hope, young man."

"But they'll live," Harry let out a painful breath. He scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. "I have to stop Hammerstein and Voldemort and the rest, first. And maybe one day…maybe they – and I…" He flinched when Ollivander's hand came down on his shoulder.

"Different paths can go to the same place, Mr. Potter," came the soft voice. "But they can also lead into different territories, different dangers. Be careful, young man. I shall always be here, should you need me."

Harry met the strange silver gaze. Ollivander had been there, before, helping in his own way, Harry remembered. For one dizzying moment, Harry wondered if in fact this wasn't his second time repeating his life, but his fifth or twenty-fifth, and what other secrets lay behind the kind old man's eyes.

Then Harry took a breath and nodded.

"Thank you," he said.

"Your friends are about to come looking for you."

"I know," Harry climbed to his feet. "I – I can come here again?"

"Any time you wish. But remember, Mr. Potter," the man smiled. "You are not as alone as you think."

"What?"

"What changes you have already made," Ollivander's smile grew. "I shall enjoy watching you grow, young man."

A tap on the shop window broke the moment. Neville was outside with Hermione, waving at him. When Harry turned back to Ollivander, the man was gone, the shop quiet and still, as if he had never been there at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The rest of the summer holiday seemed to fly by in a daze of quiet grief and weeding. Harry stayed at Neville's house, content to help the other boy in the family greenhouses for hours on end. If the Longbottom clan noticed Harry's greater quietness, none of them mentioned it.

_They will live again_, was the prevalent mantra that got Harry through the hard days. _You will see them again. Even if they never call you father, you will be there to watch over them, watch them grow up, all of it. You _will. _And maybe…maybe. Maybe they will end up mine anyway. Maybe._

Time, as it does, heals most grief. The heartache that choked Harry for the first few days after visiting Ollivander's shop faded, as he knew it would. The bittersweet memories played out in his dreams, hazy as half forgotten imaginations, but the pull on his heart stayed the same. _James, Albus, Lily_, Harry would wake with tears still wet on his face sometimes. Neville never asked him why.

Harry went with his friend to St. Mungo's once a week. Harry stayed in the waiting room, not wanting to crowd Neville's time with his parents. Neville seemed to draw strength from Harry's company – or at least that was what Mrs. Longbottom told him.

Before he knew it, it was September first again and the school term was upon them.

They were up at dawn, even though they had packed the night before. "Gran's always like this," Neville said through a yawn as they tromped down for breakfast.

After that Mrs. Longbottom called the Knight Bus, while a few of Neville's older relatives came to see them off. They were on their way to London by a little after eight in the morning. Harry played cards with Neville as the bus made several more stops. Harry waved to a familiar Hufflepuff face, even as a shy Slytherin third year came by to say hello to a bewildered Harry. Harry didn't recognize the face from his memories, but a glance at the girl's parents told him why – the man was clearly a wizard, in his worn robes and wand, but the woman sitting next to him was in Muggle clothing and was peering around with bright, interested eyes.

They reached King's Cross Station with almost an hour to spare. Mrs. Longbottom saw them off with little fanfare; a brusque kiss for Neville and a gracious nod for Harry seemed to be extent of her public affections.

The boys claimed a compartment on an eerily empty train. The porters had their things stowed in a flash. Harry and Neville watched the young men lounge near the tea trolley vender and smoke, while flirting with the girl behind the till.

"I've never been here this early," Harry said.

"Me either. Last year we went from Diagon Alley."

"That's right," Harry said. "I never did thank you for your help, did I?"

Neville rolled his eyes at him. "Forget it. Bets on how long it'll take Hermione to ask us about our homework?"

"Five minutes."

"I say three."

They shook on it.

It wasn't long before the platform started to fill. Harry and Neville watched the ebb and flow of the crowd from their window, picking out familiar faces from the rush.

"_There_ you are," came Hermione's voice from the door. "I've been looking all _over_. We wanted to get here before the rush, but my father forgot to fill the tank for the car and it was just _horrid_ at the fill station."

"Hello, Hermione," Harry grinned as he turned to face his friend.

Hermione beamed back at them. "I am so _excited_. I can't wait. A whole new _year_ of studies! Do you have your homework finished?"

Harry shared a wry look with Neville. "We finished it. Promise."

"_Wonderful_. I've come up with a preliminary schedule for our study group, but I'll have to –"

"Study group?"

Harry glanced up to see Theodore Nott standing at the door.

Hermione rolled her eyes "_Yes_, Theo. The study group. I _told_ you about it."

"Not that you started to schedule it." Theo moved into the compartment, Draco hot on his heels.

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Hello," the blond's chin came up. Harry thought he caught a hint of nervousness in Draco's gaze.

"Did _you_ finish your homework?"

The haughtiness died as Draco gaped at Hermione. "Of course I did!"

"Well," Hermione sniffed. "Good."

"You're arranging study groups already?" Theo threw himself onto the seat opposite her. "We haven't even got our class schedules yet, how can you start _planning_?"

"A general study group in the afternoon can be _assured_ of."

"For a single House group, but what about including other Houses?"

Hermione blinked. "You want to join our group?"

"Thank you for the offer; we would be delighted."

"I – but I – _hey_…"

Harry tuned out Hermione and Theo's squabbling as Draco settled in next to him. "How was your summer?" He asked the blond instead.

Draco shot him a shrewd glance, then Neville. "We had several…unpleasant visitors," he shrugged, his expression grim. "My father was out of temper for the most part. That's probably what caused the," Draco wrinkled his nose. "The – you know."

"Knock down, drag out brawl?"

Color spread over pale cheeks. "Yes."

"No offense, but your dad deserved it."

Draco scowled, but said nothing. _What a change_, Harry bit down on a smirk.

" – absolute rot –"

" – is _not_ the cause of –"

" – without necessary –"

" – is not –"

"She's been doing this to him _all summer_," Draco sighed over Hermione and Theo's rising shouts.

"Has _not_," Theo snapped at Draco, face flushed.

"At least _you _got to see the Muggle stuff."

"You…wanted to see it, too?" Hermione peered at Draco.

The blond tried to look nonchalant, Harry noted, but failed. "Sure," Draco said. "It would have been diverting."

Harry spared a moment to palm his face. _Were we all such twits at this age_?

"Diverting," Hermione repeated.

There was a tap on the door. Fred stuck his head inside. "There you are, Harry. Hello, all."

"Hello, Fred," Harry gave the older boy a small wave.

"We've just made it aboard," Fred winced as the train whistled screeched. "Mum wanted us to make sure you lot made in on, too. Now that I've filled my filial duty, I'm off!" Fred tossed them a sloppy salute and was gone.

"He always _seems_ so stupid, but their pranks are well planned and their joke pieces are very well put together," Theo sighed. "It's a shame they weren't sorted into Slytherin."

Harry couldn't help his laugh. "Are you mental? Snape would have drowned them both during their first year." Hermione giggled, but Draco scowled at the Gyrffindors.

"Professor Snape would never do such a thing to a fellow Slytherin."

"Maybe not," Harry grinned. "But I'd bet he'd dream about it."

The rest of the train ride was spent catching up. Apprehension touched Harry at Draco's description of the visitors that had decamped at the Malfoy estate for most of the summer.

"Father seemed furious, but became quite cross with me when I said to just throw them out," Draco sulked. "Mother took me out most days. It was – It was nice."

"They weren't relatives?" Neville asked. "We have relatives that visit a lot. Gran likes them to stay at least a week at a time."

"No, they weren't blood," Draco made a face. "Mum's sister is – ah," he glanced at Neville, who looked away. "Bellatrix is a mental case in Azkaban. Mother never sees her. Father doesn't have any siblings."

"Sounds lonely. Even we have cousins who come over," Hermione said.

"Cousins I've got plenty of," Draco rolled his eyes. "No, Mother said our guests were Father's business partners once, when he made a _bad deal_. I _still_ think it was rude of them to stay so long, but Mother said we didn't dare throw them out. It would be rude."

Harry let the conversation roll over him, saying as little as possible as he turned the information over in his head. He knew Narcissa had always been neutral to either side of the war – Lucius, not so. However, it sounded like the Malfoys had been visited by unwelcome guests _– former Death Eaters, probably_, Harry thought as he glanced at Draco. _How better to pressure the powerful Lucius Malfoy than to call on the Manor where his only son and heir resides and refuse to leave_. Yes, Harry could see why Narcissa had taken Draco out almost every day. Especially if they had sent Greyback to persuade Lucius to be more active to the Death Eater's cause.

The troubling news accompanied him all the way to school. There was nothing he could do for Draco, now, save be his friend and try to help the blond see that his choices for the future were not as limited as they may yet seem. _I can help them_, Harry reminded himself. _Anyone, everyone in Slytherin who didn't have a way out – I can help them, too_.

They found their carriages for the ride up to the school. Harry's heart ached as he stared at the Thestrals, but he forced himself to look away and climb inside.

Then they were at the castle and filling in the four long tables with their golden plates and goblets. The bewitched ceiling showed the evening sky overhead, along with a forest of candles hanging in mid-air.

Harry picked out Ginny's shock of red hair as the first years entered the hall. He sat squeezed in between Hermione and Neville as the sorting began. _How strange things change,_ Harry glanced at the head table. Snape's scowl was directed at the line of first years. _Last time I did this Snape was hauling us into his office for a scolding. We thought we'd be expelled for sure,_ Harry glanced at Ron. The redhead seemed to feel his gaze and glanced at Harry – and then scowled. Harry's heart dropped. _Will we _ever_ be friends_?

Harry looked back at the first years, smiling at a bouncing Colin Creevey and then – _Luna_! He sat forward, peering at the girl. She looked so different, almost…almost _normal_. It was bizarre. He bit back a smile. _Luna. I'll have to try and talk to her at some point. She was such a help to us when we needed it most, both during Voldemort's attacks and Hammerstein's. _

Harry cheered along with the rest of the House when the last of the first years had been sorted. Harry was ravenous by the time the food appeared. He noted with some amusement the approval on Hermione's face as she watched him fall onto his food. _Such a mother hen_, he smiled down at his plate. _Ron and I would have been lost without her._ But the thought dimmed his happiness a bit – _I have Hermione again, but not Ron._ He resolved to push the worry away, for now. He still had plenty of time to befriend Ron. And he _would_, somehow. He winced and rubbed at the flash of pain that spiked through his head.

They were settled into Gryffindor Tower, with Harry stopping by to congratulate Ginny on her placement. The twins were proud enough to be her father, while Ron glared at Harry anytime he approached. Ginny was alight with joy, smiling and laughing with the other first year Gryffindors. Harry hung back, unable to think of a way to ask about the diary. _Hey, I know I barely know you, but I was wondering if you managed to find a creepy journal that talks to you…_? He swallowed a snort and turned back to his friends. _Yeah, that won't work at all_.

Later that night, Harry caught sight of Scabbers sniffing around his trunk. Harry reacted without thinking, firing off a hex at the bloody Animagus – which set off Ron, and then Seamus and Dean had to separate them as Harry and Ron went at each other. Percy waded in before blows could be thrown, but the damage was done – Ron snarled if Harry so much as looked at Scabbers.

The argument and the tension in the room did little to settle Harry's nerves. His dreams were a painful mix of old memories and new fears. Harry woke several times throughout the night, chest heaving, pulse racing, all from the images that haunted his mind.

Harry was up bright and early for the first day of term, easing out of bed on silent feet. He couldn't spot that damned rat anywhere and it wouldn't be long before the others started to wake. No, he would have to bide his time and go after Pettigrew when he was alone in the dorms. He trudged to the bathrooms instead, shelving the problems for later. He found Hermione in the common room, and he, Neville and Hermione all went down to the Great Hall together. Hermione had her copy of _Voyages with Vampires_ with her at breakfast – Harry ignored the text and tried to focus on eating. His appetite had fled during the night.

Professor McGonagall handed out their class schedules as more Gryffindors started to arrive.

"Oh, double Herbology," Neville beamed. "It'll be so nice to have that with the Hufflepuffs this year. And we get to work in the morning! It's ever so much nicer."

"Dirtier, as well," Hermione said.

"A little dirt never hurt a soul," Neville answered back primly. Harry bit back a laugh and finished off his toast.

They left to get their things, waving to Draco and Theo as they ducked out of the hall. Harry noted that Blaise Zabini had sat next to the Slytherins – it looked rather frightful to navigate the politics of that House, Harry shivered. A few first years had also sat near Draco and Theo's side of the table. Harry could only hope that somehow things could turn out differently for a lot of the innocents in that House who had been caught up in the war.

They left the castle, crossed the vegetable patch and made for the greenhouses. Neville, Harry noted, had a bounce to his step. As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class waiting outside. Ron was in a group with Dean and Seamus and a few other Hufflepuff boys.

They had little time to wait before Professor Sprout joined them, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Professor Sport was a squat little woman who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and under her fingernails that would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a turquoise hat with gold trimming.

"Ah, hello there!" He called, beaming around at the assembled students. "I was just talking with your Professor here about the _wonderful_ plants she's been growing for you this year, yes – but I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…"

"I bet you did," Harry muttered.

"Greenhouse three, today, chaps!" Professor Sprout called. She was looking distinctly disgruntled and not at all her usual, cheerful self.

"No one is better at Herbology than Professor Sprout," Neville said as they made their way to the greenhouses. There had been a general murmur of interest at the Professor's announcement – they had only ever worked in greenhouse one before – greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants.

Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Neville and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out. Harry flinched back, startled.

"Harry! I've been wanting a word – you don't mind if he's a couple minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Harry turned to Sprout in mute appeal – the woman's scowl eased as she met Harry's pleading look – but Lockhart moved before she could rescue him.

"That's the ticket, thank you, Pomona," Lockhart said and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

"Harry," Lockhart said as he turned, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing back.

"You, my boy, are such an _interesting _young wizard. Harry, Harry, _Harry_," Lockhart took him by the shoulders.

Harry's stomach twisted at the man's proximity – he'd hated Lockhart the first time around and he didn't see himself warming to the man this time, either. _He's scum_, Harry tried to step away.

"Please, sir. I've got class."

"Harry, Harry, _Harry_. I know you've had your first taste of publicity with me – gave you the _bug_, haven't I? Oh, yes."

"Sir, please let go."

"But, Harry, Harry, _Harry_."

"You're hurting me." Lockhart's fingers had dug into Harry's shoulders as he tried to get away. Harry did not like the manic light that had entered the man's eye.

"Harry, my boy, there is _no need_ to be so wary. You must simply be _patient_, yes, patient, my dear, _dear_ boy…"

"What is going on here?"

Harry felt an odd moment of disconnect when relief washed through him. _When have I _ever_ been grateful for Snape's appearance?_

"Severus!" Lockhart turned, one hand still digging into Harry's shoulder. Harry winced and tried again to pull away.

"Professor, please. That hurts and I'm missing class." He glanced up; Snape had several glass vials filled with liquids and bits of herbs. _Potions ingredients_. Harry met the dark eyes, trying not to flinch when Lockhart's fingers bit in deeper. _Stop touching me, I hate it, I hate being touched. I should just _kick_ him, I…_

Harry blinked at the hint of a smile on Snape's mouth. "Lockhart," Snape transferred his gaze to the man. "Quit being an imbecile and let _our_ celebrity go to class. You _do_ have your own lectures to attend to."

Lockhart's hand disappeared. "Severus! Really, I know my stunning self is hard to –"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry cut in, forcing himself to say the words. Then he bolted into the greenhouse, not looking back. He heard Lockhart's voice raised to a shout as he eased into place next to Hermione and Neville.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between his friends, Sprout said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

Harry nudged Neville, grabbing Hermione's hand to keep it down.

"Yes, Neville?"

"It's uh – Mandrake," Neville stuttered. "It's a – a restorative."

"Exactly, ten points to Gryffindor," Sprout graced Neville with an approving smile. "Mandrakes are indeed a restorative. They can be used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state. They also form an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up.

"Ms. Granger?"

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," Hermione answered.

"Precisely. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke. Everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish-green in color, were growing there in rows.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink or fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely_ covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right – earmuffs _on_."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants and pulled hard.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of its head. It had pale green, mottled skin and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

_I'd forgotten how creepy they were_, Harry shivered.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the mandrake into it, burying it in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly, as though she'd done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they _will_ knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up."

She clapped her hands together. "Four to a tray – there is a large supply of pots here – compost in the sacks over there – and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething."

Harry, Neville and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy. Harry had to look away.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," the boy said, shaking Neville's hand. He turned to Harry. "I know how you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter. And you're Hermione Granger – always top in everything, and Neville Longbottom, yeah?"

"Ah, yeah," Neville stammered. Harry said nothing. Justin wasn't a bad sort, he'd even joined Dumbledore's Army, but when Hammerstein had invaded, Justin had fled with his family to Australia and never looked back. Not that Harry could blame him, (although, yes, he did, a little) but…

"…My name was down for Eton, you know," Harry tuned in long enough to hear Justin say. Harry hurried off for the compost heap, not trusting himself to stay pleasant. They didn't have much chance to talk after that, since Sprout gave the order for them to put on their earmuffs and get back to work.

Their Professor had made the transfer look easy. By the end of class everyone was sweaty, aching and covered in earth. Neville was the only one in a chipper mood by the end – Harry had had to struggle to get two fat seedlings into pots and it had soured whatever good mood he'd still had.

A quick wash between lessons was all they had time for before Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work – for which Harry was grateful. He poured his focus into turning his beetle into a button. Again, his magic felt rough- but not as bad as the year before. _It has to be from usage_, Harry realized as he mastered the transformation. _The more you practice, the tamer your magic gets. That's why children's wild magic results in such volatile ways_.

Neville had Hermione's help as he morphed his beetle into interesting shapes. McGonagall gave the boy an encouraging nod as she moved on: Ron and Dean were fooling around more than anything and their Professor was quick to pounce on them.

They shared the class with the Ravenclaw second years. Harry was again partnered with Terry Boot. They caught up on their summers as they worked on their beetles together.

Harry escaped with Hermione and Neville at the lunch bell, waving once to Terry as they left. Ron and Dean, he noted, had been kept back by McGonagall for a talking-to.

"I need _ever_ so much help," Neville said as they made their way to the Great Hall.

"You almost had it, Neville," Hermione said. "We'll go over it again, tonight, if you want."

"Oh, could we? I _can't_ fail this year."

"You won't fail."

"What've we got this afternoon?" Harry cut in as they sat.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said at once.

"Why are there _hearts_ all around Lockhart's name on your schedule?" Neville asked.

Hermione folded the paper, a bright blush on her face. "It's _nothing_."

"But…"

Harry kicked Neville in the ankle and shook his head. "Anything we need to review before class?" He asked Hermione's down turned face.

"Um – um – well," she glanced up at them. "I've been reading through our books, but he hasn't specified _which_ text we'll be covering first, so…"

Harry sat back and let Hermione ramble on about Lockhart's books. It was far better than seeing her embarrassed and miserable. _I swore I'd never hurt her again_, he poked at his food. _I meant it_.

After lunch they went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat on a stone step with Harry and Neville on either side of her as she pulled out _Voyages with Vampires_ for them to go over.

"_There_ you are," Draco's voice called. Harry looked up to see the blond and Theo headed their way. "We were looking all _over_."

"Hello, Draco," Harry said. "Theo."

"You're not reading that rubbish are you?" Theo said to Hermione.

"It's not rubbish," she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Not again," Draco sighed.

"Have you had Herbology yet?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco sat next to Harry. "Why?"

"Get ready to get dirty. You're repotting Mandrakes."

Theo made a face. Draco frowned. "Mandrakes, you say. Mother bought me a load of magical creature books this summer – maybe Hagrid knows about them."

"Probably, but Professor Sprout is on top of it, too."

"They're really more plant than creature," Neville pointed out. "But we could ask Hagrid about them. He might know if they grow wild."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. He straightened up, scanning the courtyard.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry caught sight of a much detested camera and stifled a sigh. "Nothing," he muttered, slumping down.

"Harry," Draco frowned at him. "What is _wrong_ with you? You act so oddly sometimes."

Harry glanced at Draco, then to the pillar where Colin Creevey stood. "That," he tilted an eyebrow.

Draco peered over at the boy. Creevey came forward, a large camera clutched in his hands.

"H-Hello, ah, hi," the boy stammered. "I- I'm Colin Creevey," he inched closer. "I-I'm in Gryffindor, see, just got sorted, um. Could I – would it be all right if I – I mean," he raised the camera.

"A picture?" Draco drawled.

"So I can prove I met him," Colin told Draco. "I know all about him, everyone's told me. About how he survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill him and how he disappeared and everything and how he's still got a scar on his forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures will move." Colin drew in a great shuddering breath. "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to my dad and it'd be really good if I had one of you," he addressed Harry for the first time. "Maybe – maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, then, you could maybe sign it?"

Draco had started to chuckle. Harry rolled his eyes and elbowed the other boy. "Colin, look, I'm really nothing special. I –"

"_Signed photos_? You're giving out _signed photos_, Potter?" Loud and scathing, Ron stopped right behind Colin. "Trying to impress the first years with your _fame_, Potter, with _signed photos_? Everyone line up!" Ron roared to the gathering crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out sighed photos!"

"Ron," Dean said, grabbing the boy's arm. "Stop."

"I'm not giving out photos, _Ron_," Harry snarled. "Of course I'm not." He saw Colin glancing between them, eyes huge.

"You're just so full of yourself, aren't you, ordering my family about –"

"Hey!" Hermione cut in.

Harry saw Draco's eyes narrow. Harry elbowed the Slytherin before whatever damning words could slip from his mouth.

"Buzz off, Hermione, this doesn't concern you!" Ron snapped.

"Doesn't concern me? I was the one who asked your brothers to go rescue Harry!"

"Rescue?" Draco echoed.

_Bugger all_, Harry rolled his eyes. "Will you all just _stop_?" He tried to pitch his voice like they taught in Auror training. It didn't quite work, but it got everyone's attention. "Look, Ron. I'm not sure what crawled up your arse and died when it comes to me, but I've not done anything to you that warrants your constant attitude. So stuff it, please. _No_, I'm not giving out photographs; Colin just wanted a photo to send to his dad, with him and some schoolmates. That's all. No autographs. No posing, no…"

"Oh, no," Hermione whispered.

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart strode into the courtyard, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

"No one," Harry started.

"Ah, shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!" Lockhart flung an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry tried to wiggle away. _Why must he always touch me_, _the blathering idiot_. He twisted a look at Draco, but the blond was staring, horrified, at Lockhart's robes.

"Come on, then Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, who had Harry pinned to his side. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll _both_ sign it for you."

"But, sir…let _go_…"

"Sir!" Theo said, as Colin fumbled with his camera. Harry saw Dean drag Ron off as the bell rang.

"There we are, off you go, move along here," Lockhart said. He still had a hold of Harry, dragging him along as he headed down the halls.

"_Sir_," Harry heard Theo say from behind them.

"A word to the wise, Harry," Lockhart said, voice lowered as he marched Harry along. Harry could bet he would have bruises from the man's hold. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey – if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much."

"I'm _not_," Harry squeaked as Lockhart's hand slipped into the space between Harry's neck and his robes.

"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible – looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time, when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but," he chortled, hand moving, "I don't think you're quite there yet."

"Let _go_," Harry tore away from the man. Lockhart swept on, oblivious. Harry shuddered, shaking like a wet dog. _Was he always that – that – touchy-feely? What the hell was Dumbledore thinking, hiring that man_? Harry scrubbed at the spot on his shoulder where Lockhart's hand had lingered.

"Harry?"

He jumped, spooked by Draco's voice. "Yeah?" His friends were arrayed behind him.

"Are you all right?"

"I need a bloody shower," he muttered.

"Harry! Language!"

Harry made a face at Hermione. "Sorry," he rubbed at his shoulder, again. "I don't like that man." He rubbed harder.

"Harry," Draco reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Stop. You'll hurt yourself."

Harry looked at him blankly. "What?"

"Your shoulder. Did he hurt you?"

"No, he just got _touchy_," Harry made another face. "Come on. We've got to get inside before class starts." He turned away before they could protest.

Like last year, he took a seat in the back of the defense classroom. Unlike last year, they shared the lesson with the Slytherin second years. Draco took the seat next to Harry, Hermione and Neville the desk in front of them. Theo was at the desk on Harry's other side, Blaise Zabini as his partner. Harry didn't miss the way Hermione's head turned as she looked from him to Lockhart and back again several times before settling into her seat.

When the whole class was settled, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly. _I hope he chokes on his own spit_, Harry scowled at the man.

Lockhart took Parvati's copy of _Travels with Trolls_ and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly_'_s_ Most-Charming-Smile award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!"

_You didn't get rid of her at all_, Harry wanted to say. A few people tittered.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books – well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about," he beamed at the chorus of groans. "Just something to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken _in_."

When he had handed out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and said; "You have thirty minutes. Start – now!"

Harry turned over his paper with a sigh. He heard Draco choke back something next to him. Harry slid him a glance, caught his gaze and rolled his eyes. Draco snickered and turned back to his test.

Harry read; _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

_ 2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_ 3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to _54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

Harry rolled his eyes and palmed his face. He glanced over at Theo, who was regarding his quiz with an expression of absolute horror.

Harry sighed and started to fill in the blanks with the silliest nonsense he could think up.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut, hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. And a few of your need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"

"_I_ need a firewhiskey," Harry muttered. Draco ducked his head.

"…but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair care products. Good girl! In fact," Lockhart flipped the paper over. "Full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Harry saw Hermione lean back in her seat, head cocked to one side. She raised her hand. Harry caught sight of her face – _wasn't she all agog over Lockhart the last time_? _Why is she frowning at him, now_? _She was cooing over his books just this morning. What changed_? Harry reached up and rubbed at his shoulder, where Lockhart had grabbed him. _Bloody man_.

"Excellent job, Ms. Granger!" Lockhart beamed. "Ten points for Gryffindor. And now, to business!"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now, be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

_Liar, liar, pants on fire_, Harry slouched in his seat and folded his arms over his chest.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice, glancing around the room. "It might provoke them." Lockhart waited a moment. Harry could see the man scanning their faces. _He's such a con artist_. Then Lockhart whipped off the cover to the cage.

"Yes," he announced in a deep voice. "_Freshly caught Cornish pixies_!"

There were several snorts of laughter from Ron and Seamus. "Those aren't dangerous!"

"Don't be so sure!" Lockhart waggled a finger at Seamus, whose smile slid away. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

_Oh, not _this_ again_, Harry closed his eyes.

"Right then," Lockhart bellowed. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Goyle by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering Harry and the rest of the back row with broken glass. Harry swore as he felt a slice open up on the back of his neck.

The rest of the pixies proceeded to wreck the classroom. They sprayed ink, shredded books, tore pictures from the walls, upended the wastebasket, and tossed bags. Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Goyle was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now, round them up, round them up. They're only pixies," Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, "_Peskipiksi Pesternomi_!"

It had absolutely no effect. One of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Goyle, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush for the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry hovering over Draco as the blond made a face at the blood on his hands and said, "Well, I'll ask you lot to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He swept past them and shut the door in Theo's face.

"Can you _believe _that man?" Theo spun around.

"Are you hurt badly?" Hermione hovered at Harry's side.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You're bleeding worse than I am," Draco pointed out. He'd gotten nicked on the ear by a piece of glass.

"Your _neck_, Harry," Neville said. Harry just shrugged it off, more intent on Draco than his own injuries.

"What should we do?" Blaise Zabini had lingered along with the other Slytherins. Harry glanced at him – but Zabini's expression gave nothing away.

"We've got to catch them," Harry flicked a stunning charm at a group of pixies. He was too angry to hide the ease to which the spell came. "Come on, let's do this and then head to the Infirmary." He ignored the way Hermione was hovering, taking out his irritation with Lockhart on the pixies. _Stupid, useless wanker of a man_.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

There was neither hide nor hair of a Howler from Lucius Malfoy the day after. Harry had expected the man to have _some_ reaction to his son's injury – but Draco had scoffed at Harry's inquiry and said, "I'm not a _baby_, Harry. I don't go running to my father over stupid _accidents_."

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart. Colin Creevey was harder to avoid, but the lad was innocent enough – Harry just hated the adrenaline rush Colin would startle out of him every time he popped out around a corner.

Another man Harry took pains to avoid was Snape. The Potions Master had been furious with Lockhart over the damage done to his Slytherin students – or so the rumor mill said. No one needed a rumor mill to see Snape squaring off with the annoying Defense professor, only to be blown off with a smile and an exaggerated wink. Harry had been rooting for Snape to hex the man, but their Potions professor had only stalked away, hands in fists at his sides.

Still, Harry didn't understand why he kept seeing Snape in the halls. Last year, yes, with Quirrell in the building, Harry could see why Snape had taken to patrolling. Harry had done it, years and years later, near the end, when Hammerstein's forces had grown large. Harry wouldn't be able to sleep, so he would patrol whatever small encampment they had cobbled together, trying to wear down his nerves.

The rest of their classes were a rush of year one review. Harry gave in to Hermione's insistence that they have a full review session on the weekend – he could use the practice, as well, to help smooth out more of his magic and gain further control.

Harry was relieved when the weekend rolled around. He, Hermione and Neville had planned to go see Hagrid at one point – Draco had already been to the gamekeeper's hut with Theo, and, surprisingly, with Blaise Zabini in tow. _We'll have to keep an eye on that one_, Harry had reminded himself. _Just in case_.

Harry's plans for Saturday were dashed when he was shaken awake early that morning. He swung, instinct overriding caution. There was a shout, and then a familiar voice saying his name.

"Harry, Harry," Fred had him. "Wake up. Sorry, Wood's gone mental."

"What?" Harry's mind was a mix of sleep and memory. "Who? Where is he? We can escape…"

"Harry," Fred gave him a shake. Harry blinked, the fog of sleep lifting. "Wake up, now. Come on."

"What the hell, Fred?"

"Quidditch practice," Fred tugged at his arm. Harry saw Wood at the door, George holding forth on something that had the large sixth year almost cowering back from the third year Beater.

"Come on, Harry. Wood's been dead set on this."

"Oh, for the love of god," Harry slumped back into his blankets. "It's the bloody crack of dawn."

"Exactly," Fred ruffled his hair. "Up and at 'em, before we wake the whole tower."

"Too late," came Ron's grumpy voice.

Harry rolled his eyes, sparing one, long moment to wish himself back asleep, and then rolled out of bed, letting Fred herd him into practice clothes and an extra cloak for warmth.

They made it to the changing rooms just ahead of the rest of the team. Harry slumped back against the wall, sharing an irate glance with Alicia Spinnet, a Chaser. The other girls, all Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, had set up around Harry, for which he was grateful. Wood would never dare to invoke their wrath.

"Good, good, you're all here," Wood clapped his hands, looking manic. "Now, I wanted to quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…"

Wood held up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows and crosses in different inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head dropped right onto Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that. Harry let himself drift into a half-sleep as Wood droned on.

"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry out of dream. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

"I've got a question," said George, who had woken with a start against Harry's legs. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

Harry saw Wood scowl.

"Now listen here, you lot," Wood said, glaring. "We should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately – owning to circumstances beyond our control – we were unable to."

Harry winced. He'd been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.

"So this year we'll train harder than ever before," Wood said after collecting himself. "Now, let's go and put our new theories into practice." Wood seized his broomstick and led the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and yawning, the team followed him.

They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up. Remnants of mist hung low over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Hermione and Neville sitting next to Colin Creevey in the stands.

"Are you finished?" Hermione called.

"Haven't even started," Harry called back, giving the toast in their hands one regretful look. "Wood's been teaching us new maneuvers." He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air.

The cool morning air whipped at his face, waking him far more than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field again. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.

"Colin!" Harry called back.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

"He's in Gryffindor," Harry pointed out.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy," said George.

"What makes you say that?" Wood retorted.

"Because they're here in person," George pointed.

Harry followed his arm to see the Slytherin team, in their green robes, walking out onto the field, broomsticks in hand.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the field today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot toward the ground. Harry followed the twins after him.

"Flint!" Harry heard Oliver bellow. "This is our practice time! We got up specially for this! You can clear off now!"

Harry caught sight of Flint. _He sure had an unfortunate adolescence. _Harry winced at the troll-like visage. He knew the boy would grow out of it, as he would grow out of his bullying ways and end up on the same professional Quidditch team as Oliver. _Ginny used to talk about how Flint followed Oliver around_, Harry remembered. _Odd how things change_.

"There's plenty of room for all of us, Wood," Harry heard Flint say as he landed.

Angelina, Alicia and Katie had come over, too. The girls' approach was greeted by a few faint leers and more than one mocking scowl. Harry glared at the older boys, feeling the corners of his mouth turn down.

"But I booked the field!" Wood waved his arms. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. See? It says, _I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owning to the need to train their new Seeker_. See?"

"You've got a new Seeker?" Wood blinked. "Who?"

Flint looked around. "Malfoy? Where are you?"

"Malfoy?" Harry heard Fred mutter.

The Slytherin team parted and Draco was pulled to the front. The second year was smaller than his teammates – although Harry knew it would not last. Draco ended up almost as tall as Ron, Harry remembered.

"This here is Draco Malfoy, and he's our new Seeker. His father also made a generous gift to the team," Flint smirked. His gaze never left Wood's face as the team displayed their new brooms.

Harry kept his gaze on Draco. The blond had his eyes glued to the ground, a faint pink blush on his face as he clutched the new _Nimbus Two Thousand and One_ to his chest.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," Flint continued. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Clean Sweeps," he smiled. "It sweeps the board with them."

Harry caught Wood fairly seething with rage.

"Oh, look," drawled Flint, gaze slipping past them. "A field invasion."

Harry turned to see a crowd of Gryffindors and a few Slytherins headed their way. Closer, Harry could make out Theo and Zabini, as well as Ron, who had Dean and Seamus with him. Between them were Hermione and Neville. Hermione looked as though she was trying to mediate an argument between Ron and Theo. Behind them all trailed Colin Creevey.

"What's this? What's happening?" Ron stalked up to his brothers. "Why aren't you practicing and why are _they_ here?"

"We're training our new Seeker," one of the Slytherin team snapped back. "And trying out our _new_ brooms Malfoy's dad just gave us."

Harry saw Draco's shoulders come up.

"That – those – those are…"

"Good, aren't they?" Flint tilted his broom at Wood. "Best on the line. Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those old CleanSweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," Ron retorted. "They got in on pure talent."

"No one asked for your opinion, you little blood traitor!" one of the older Slytherins snapped.

There was an immediate commotion. Draco turned on the Slytherin member, shouting. Flint had to pull apart two other team members. George had a hold of Ron, while Fred dived in to save Draco from a Slytherin fifth year's fist. Alicia dove in to help him, while Harry rescued the blond from the fray.

"I didn't ask for this," Draco said, turning to him. He had grabbed onto Harry's arm. "I swear. I told Mother I was thinking about trying out this year and Father just – sometimes he just _does_ things and then Flint made me Seeker and…"

"It's all right," Harry patted his shoulder.

"How _dare_ you!" Harry turned at Katie's shriek. He saw the girl clutching her chest as a sixth year leered at her.

"You'll pay for that!" Seamus shouted. He pulled his wand and pointed it at the older boy. There was a loud bang and a jet of green light shot out of his wand. It would have hit the intended target, if one of the Slytherin Chasers hadn't tackled Seamus, causing the wand to spin off, making the curse deflect and hit Harry right in the stomach.

_Bugger_, was all Harry had time to think, then he was on all fours, retching bile and blood into the grass.

Harry wasn't able to focus on much more than vomiting as pandemonium erupted. He thought he heard Draco shouting some more, and then Neville was there, with a steady hand on Harry's back and a soothing stream of nonsense for his ears. There was more shouting, but it was all a jumble to Harry as his stomach cramped, vile and tight, as he tried to expel all of his internal organs.

It was with quite a bit of relief that Harry passed out from the pain.

* * *

Harry woke in the hospital wing. He knew where he was by the scent of the place. He felt wrecked; his head pounded in time with his heartbeat. _I think this might be the new record of how fast I can end up in the Infirmary_. His muscles ached, like he'd been put through a series of _Cruciatus_ curses. He tried to sit up, but found it too painful to move.

_Well, at least it wasn't slugs_, he tried to stay positive. _Merlin, but Ron was miserable for hours. I think I'll take retching blood over slugs, never could stand the creatures in the first place_.

He knuckled the grit from his eyes and felt around for his glasses. Everything was blurry – but that was normal. He made a face at the taste left in his mouth. _Left over blood is disgusting_, he snorted as he went up on an elbow to get a better reach. He found the glasses on the bedside table and slipped them on.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry whipped around at Snape's voice. He clutched at the covers. "S-sir." How had he missed the man's presence? _Unless he was under a disillusionment charm_, Harry felt a touch of cold run down his spine. _If he was under a charm, could he have read my mind? Was my guard up? I was asleep – I - _ Harry had kept his gaze on the man's chest, avoiding Snape's eyes.

"I will have your side of this nonsense, Potter, so that all the guilty parties may be punished," Snape said. Harry shivered at this tone. When Snape got angry – really angry – he rarely shouted. Instead the man got very, very quiet.

"Um," Harry winced again, anticipating the scathing remark sure to follow. He glanced up at the man's face when nothing came. _He's not going to yell at me_? Then Harry blinked.

"We were on the pitch, ah, the Gryffindor team, that is. Wood had us out early and then the Slytherin team came out with a note saying they also had permission to use the pitch," _not so fast_, Harry remembered an old Auror trainer saying. _When you give your reports, don't rush. State the facts, clear and simple. _"Wood and Flint were needling each other – well, Flint was goading Wood, but Oliver was so angry about the pitch schedule he missed it. Then Hermione, Neville, Theo and Zabini, as well as Ron, Dean and…Seamus? Yes, Seamus all came down onto the field. Sometimes Ron comes to watch his brothers practice."

"A fascinating summary, Potter, but I would like to know who did what, to the best of your memory."

Harry ducked his head, feeling his shoulders climb up around his ears.

"Someone called Ron a blood traitor," Harry said before Snape could snap at is posture. "A Slytherin Beater, but I don't know his name. Brown hair, with freckles. Flint had to separate his Chasers. George had a hold of Ron. Fred pulled Draco away from an older year on the Slytherin team. Then Katie got, um," Harry gestured at his chest. "Groped? But I don't know who did that, and Seamus tried to curse them, but he was tackled mid-spell and his wand spun off, and the curse hit me, by accident." _Merlin, I do sound like I'm twelve_, Harry buried his hands in the blankets. _There's something about this man that always makes me feel like an idiot_.

"So, to the best of your memory, this entire episode was caused by the Slytherin House."

"No," Harry snapped his head up. "An _idiot_ started this. A stupid boy who repeats stupid things he doesn't even understand." He bit his lip and looked away. "Sir. Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be – I'm sorry."

"You are quite fond of your own importance," Snape sneered.

Harry clamped his mouth shut and kept his gaze trained away.

"Your version of events does stand up to all that were gathered. Mr. Malfoy has been quite adamant of those who should be punished for starting the fray. Of course, he also adds that Mr. Weasley the younger and Mr. Finnigan should be punished as well."

Harry just shrugged.

"You would agree?"

"No," Harry bit out. "Well, not exactly. Ron didn't help matters, but he wasn't the one throwing insults around to start the fight."

"And you do not blame Mr. Finnigan."

"It was an accident."

"And if the curse had reached its intended target?"

"Then yes, of course, he'd need to be punished."

"But you do not believe he needs to be punished for hitting you."

Harry froze. "That's – I didn't – it really was just an accident."

Snape set a bottle on the nightstand. "This is for your stomach. You are to take it before every meal, one sip, until it is gone. Disobey the instructions at your own peril. Mr. Finnigan's curse could have killed you, Potter."

Harry didn't mean to huff out a painful laugh. "I think it'll take more than that, sir." He reached for the vial.

A strong grip took his wrist. Harry flinched away from the sudden movement, gaze flying to Snape's. _Why is he – please don't hit –_

Snape let go. "Only take the potion before you eat, Potter. Taking it now will be just as damaging as not taking it at all." Snape drew back. "Mind Madam Pomfrey, Potter." Then he swept away.

Harry blinked at the retreating back. _He must be out of sorts over the fray_, Harry frowned. _He didn't even mock me._ Then Madam Pomfrey arrived and all of Harry's attention was diverted to keeping the woman from grounding Harry to the Infirmary for the rest of the week.

* * *

Harry was released from Madam Pomfrey's care by only the dent of much pleading. Harry made it to dinner with Hermione and Neville just as the food appeared. He learned, from the gossip flying around him, that half the Slytherin Quidditch team had detentions, as did Ron, Seamus and Wood, who had, at some point, gotten into a wrestling match with Flint. Both boys were glaring at each other from their respective tables.

Ron and Seamus had detention with Lockhart, which caused Harry to chuckle. Ron turned a murderous glare on him, eyes a touch red. The Slytherin detentions were to be served with Filch, which came as a surprise. Both Houses had lost twenty points for fighting.

It was on the way back to the dormitory that Harry heard the voice. He stopped, Neville and Hermione continuing on as he listened.

_Come…come to me…let me rip you…let me tear you…let me kill you_…

_Bloody hell._ Harry's breath caught in his throat. _It's here. The basilisk is already loose_.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Worry made Harry's dreams darker than usual that night. He was up before dawn, sitting at the banked fireplace, knees draw up to his chest.

_What am I going to do_? He carded his fingers through his hair. _Ginny has to have the diary, but it's not like I can just barge in and take it from her, especially not now, with Ron the way he is. _Harry folded his arms around his knees and set his head down on the bony kneecaps.

_I can't very well just leave her to it, can I? The basilisk could kill someone this time around. Ginny could die this time around. Voldemort could be reborn – but I won't sacrifice Ginny for an easy way to capture the man. I'd never forgive myself, and there's still the question of the Horcrux inside of me. And all the others._

He let out a frustrated sigh. _What the bloody hell am I going to do_?

He was no closer to the answer when Hermione found him curled up on the couch closest to the hearth an hour later.

* * *

He was still no closer to the answer a week later. He hadn't heard the basilisk again, but that was little solace to the ball of worry growing in his gut.

His attention was also divided by the swift plunge back into the school term, frantic Quidditch practices and homework.

Hermione's birthday snuck up on them before he knew it. He woke early on the nineteenth, slipping the girl's present from his trunk so Ron and the others wouldn't see.

Hermione had started coming down early in the mornings with Harry. Often she would read, sometimes dozing off in the chair as Harry relaxed in the quiet. It was nice to have a partner again, Harry reflected as he waited for her. _Maybe one day we'll both be able to sit in the quiet with Mrs. Weasley again_.

"Happy birthday," he told her and held out her present. Hermione's eyes lit up. She ripped through the paper.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, gently removing the book from the protective plastic bag. "Where did you find this?"

"At an old junk shop," he smiled at her appalled expression. "It was just sitting there with the other old books. I doubt anyone had bothered to read the front page to see the proper title. Mrs. Longbottom pointed me to a leatherworks shop where I got the cover redone."

"Oh, it's wonderful," Hermione traced the gilt title. _Magical Theory and Intrinsic Basics to the Craft of Magic_ had been one of Hermione's most prized possessions later on in life. Harry couldn't believe it when he'd found the book in the old junk shop on the Street of Flowers.

"Oh, I need to put this away; thank you, thank you!" She surprised him with a fierce, short hug. Then she tore up the stairs to the girl's dormitory.

Hermione was still on uneven grounds with the other girls of Gryffindor, although Harry did see Parvati give Hermione a bag of candy at breakfast. Neville gave her a potted plant. Harry warned Ron off when he and some other boys started to snicker. Fred and George gave Hermione a slip of paper, and a promise that they would ride to her rescue at any time on their fine, four wheeled mount. Hermione blushed a deep red and rolled her eyes at the same time at them.

What surprised Harry the most, however, was Draco and Theo showing up at the library after classes. Harry was eyebrows deep in a Transfigurations essay when he heard Draco's voice.

"We heard it was your birthday," Draco said. Harry looked up to see the Slytherin flanked by Theo. They both held out elegantly wrapped presents – the wrapping, of course, green and silver.

"Ah," said Hermione. "Thank you?"

"We weren't sure – ow, Theo!" Draco rubbed at his side.

Harry watched Hermione frown at them and then turn to the presents. Instead of ripping into them like she had Harry's, she picked apart the thick wrapping paper of the first and pulled out a book. A soft look of wonder passed across her face.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Harry craned his neck to look at the titles. The book had a thick cover and gilded title. It read, _A History of Magical Kind_. Harry raised his eyebrow. He knew that book. He also knew it was rather rare and not reprinted. It was one of the foremost histories on wizarding kind in the world. That had been Theo's gift.

Draco's was a game. "It's Kings and Castles," the blond said. "I thought, maybe, we could adapt it. If, you know, you were still interested in the practice sessions by the lake, but even then it's a very fun game, my mother taught me how to play it and…"

"Would you show me the rules?" Hermione had yet to let go of Theo's book.

"I'll show you," Theo said. "Draco gets the rules all mixed up."

"I do not."

"No, but you make a hash out of explaining them."

Draco rolled his eyes, but didn't argue.

Harry grinned at the tableau and then returned to his paper. Neville had joined Hermione and Theo at the game board.

"Harry?"

He looked up. Draco slid into the seat next to him, worrying at his bottom lip. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Draco shook his head. "I just – didn't want you to think I bought my way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team." Harry could see the flush creeping up Draco's neck. He knew what that had cost Draco to say that.

"I know you didn't," Harry met the pale eyes. "I'm sure you'll be an excellent Seeker, too. It'll be nice to have some decent competition on the pitch."

"You think I'll – of course I'll beat you," Draco rolled his eyes, but the blush stayed. "I could beat you with a blindfold over my eyes."

"Sure, sure," Harry smiled down at his parchment.

"I could so."

"You bet."

"I'll be the best Seeker Slytherin has ever had."

"How's your broom?" Harry glanced up at Draco's silence. He wanted to kick himself at the downcast expression that had filled Draco's face. "I mean it, you know. I know you didn't buy your way onto the team. I just like brooms. How's it handle?"

Draco brightened. "Oh. Oh! Well," he frowned. "It handles a little odd on –"

"Left turns? So does mine."

"Yours too? I thought I was just imagining it."

"No, it always feels like it wants to roll. See, I figured, though, if you go fast enough," Harry's essay went forgotten as he and Draco spent the rest of the afternoon talking about brooms.

* * *

September passed into October, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey was kept busy by the sudden spate of colds amongst the staff and students. Harry was among the first to catch the ague, but Madam Pomfrey's Pepper-Up Potion cleared it right out. Several times.

"I must say, Mr. Potter," the head nurse said after Harry's third visit. "I don't like this trend. Sit, sit, I want to run some spells."

Harry was forced to stay overnight in the wing as Pomfrey fretted over her readings.

"Well, nothing to be done about it," was her answer in the morning. Harry was mortified to see Snape lurking at her desk, going through her notes. "Your immune system is just poor, dear. Keep warm, now, scarf on. If you feel a bit off, come right back, young man."

Harry agreed and fled the Infirmary. _This never happened, before_, Harry chewed on his lip as he made his way to the Great Hall. _Although I was always the first one to catch whatever went through the Auror ranks. The children would pass along their colds to me, too_. _Ginny had been at her wits end about it – she never could figure out why I wasn't healthier_. He flushed and looked away, pushing back threatening memories. _I don't want to think about that right now. Stop._

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered down on the castle windows for days on end. The lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon, a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower drenched to the skin.

Even aside from the rain and wind, it hadn't been a happy practice session. Harry hadn't been able to concentrate. Fred and George had depressed everyone with the abilities of the Slytherin team's new brooms and all the girls had been in foul tempers. Harry had been grateful to escape when he had.

Harry also felt rather miserable as well. It would be his fifth trip to Madam Pomfrey in the month. The last thing he needed was her worrying over him. Not when he knew the trials that were about to come down on her if Harry didn't figure out how to stop the bloody basilisk and kill the diary of Tom Riddle without anyone the wiser.

_Just how is Dumbledore unaware of the great bloody snake in the building_? Harry stomped down a deserted corridor. _Really. The man is the most powerful magician pretty much since Merlin and he can't detect a great, ruddy, poisonous_ –

"Harry?"

Harry jerked his head up. "Hello, Draco. Theo," he blinked and squinted through rain-spackled glasses.

"You had practice? In this?"

"Yes," Harry said and then sneezed. "Oh, bloody hell. Not again."

"Haven't you been to the Infirmary twice already?"

"Four times," Harry rubbed at his nose and scowled. "Probably five if my luck holds out."

"Don't say that," Draco rolled his eyes. "You'll just make it come true."

"You should get back to your dormitory," Theo began.

"Mud in my castle?" Filch's voice came.

"Oh, bugger," Harry shook out his wand and cast a cleaning charm on his clothes. Mrs. Weasley had taught him the charm when he'd taken paternity leave after James had been born. Ginny had wanted to get back to practice as soon as possible, so Harry had stepped in, determined to help all he could. He'd never known just how much of a _mess_ babies could make, before that.

"Come on," Theo and Draco hustled him out of the corridor. Harry flicked a spell over his shoulder to clear off the mud from the floors – he had no wish to be caught by Filch, again.

He let the Slytherins herd him through some smaller passages until they turned onto a corridor that Harry knew led to Gryffindor Tower.

"Thanks," He rubbed at his head.

"Filch is in a foul mood," Theo said. "So is Professor Snape. There was an explosion yesterday in his first year class. He's still livid about it."

Harry winced. "I'll bet." Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Harry spun to face it, only to realize that it was Nearly Headless Nick.

"All right, Harry?" Draco asked.

"Fine, fine, just thought it was Filch," Harry lied, shrugging. "Hello, Nick."

The ghost, who had been drifting along the corridor, muttering to himself, jerked to a halt and looked up. "Mr. Potter? And Misters Malfoy and Nott. Hello, hello," Nick doffed his plumed hat and swept a shallow bow, so not to disturb his head, Harry knew. In Nick's other hand he held a transparent letter.

"Are you all right, Nick?" Harry asked. Harry could see Draco staring at the Gryffindor ghost with wide eyes.

"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand. "It is a matter of no importance. It's not as though I really wanted to join…Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill the requirements'," he forced out an obviously fake laugh. "But you would think, wouldn't you," Nick scowled and thrust out the letter. "That getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt? How many strokes did that it take to get them sent off? Bet me, it wasn't forty-five!"

"Er," said Harry.

"Forty-five?" Draco squeaked.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However, this," Nick shook the paper. "This farce, this _inability _of mine to participate in Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo, really, really, are just two _minor_ parts to the Hunt and it is merely a half an inch of skin holding it on! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not nearly enough for Sir Properly Decapitated Podmore!"

Harry blinked a few times. "Well," he said. "That's – I'm very sorry you weren't accepted, Nick. You'd be the best of the lot, I'm sure, if you'd been let in."

The fight seemed to go out of the ghost. "Oh, never mind it, young Harry. Though it was very kind of you to say so."

"We're very sorry as well," Draco piped up. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Harry had to snap his mouth shut. _What in Merlin's name just came out of Malfoy's mouth_?

"Well," Nick said, brightening. "There _is_ something you all could do for me, if you would all be so kind."

"…Sure," Harry rocked back on his heels.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

"Oh," Harry bit his lip. "Right." _I'd forgotten that._

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you all would attend. Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom would be most welcome too, of course – but I'd daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He glanced between them, wringing his hands.

"I…" Harry looked at the Slytherins.

"We'd love to come," Draco chimed in. Harry saw Theo pinch the bridge of his nose.

"My dear boys! I am so very honored!" Nick beamed. "And – do you think you could _possibly_ mention to Sir Patrick how _very_ frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Of course," Draco's smile turned sly.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at them.

* * *

"A deathday party?" Hermione said when Harry had escaped Nick and the Slytherins to finally change into something dry and warm. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those – it'll be fascinating!"

It took some convincing to get Neville to agree to go as well.

By the time Halloween arrived, Harry had visited the Infirmary once more and had his own stash of Pepper-Up Potions from the nurse, 'just in case', as Pomfrey had said. The last time Harry had gone to see the woman, Snape had been there, listening in on her examination. Harry had fled as soon as possible.

The school was eagerly anticipating the Halloween feast. The Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for entertainment.

"Dancing skeletons," Neville moaned when they met up with the Slytherins in front of the Great Hall.

"_You_ can go break a promise if you like," Hermione sniffed. "_I _think a deathday party is much more unusual than a bunch of rattling bones."

"Aren't you going to miss the feast?" Draco turned to Harry.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I won't."

"But it's _Halloween_."

"Exactly." Harry marched past the doors to the Great Hall. It was time for Nick's party.

"Harry?" Neville had caught up with him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Harry."

"It's _Halloween_." Harry shrugged, feeling his shoulders tight and stiff. "My parents died today."

There was silence from behind him.

"Oh," said Neville.

"Not that I knew them," Harry blew out a forced breath. _It's bloody ridiculous to be stuck on this, after all this time_. "It's just, sometimes I can forget, but with all the parties…" _And all the other deaths, from before._ He bit his lip, pushing the faint, lingering grief away.

"Yeah. I know," Neville bumped shoulders with Harry.

"Do you think we should have worn dress robes?" Draco forced his way in front of them. "I have the dress robes Mother sent me and extras, it couldn't have hurt…"

"It will be fine," Hermione cut in, pushing her way past Theo. "Come on; we'll be late if we don't hurry."

Harry rolled his eyes at their fussing, but stayed quiet, content to follow a bickering Hermione and Theo towards the dungeons.

The passageway to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, though the effect was far from cheerful. The candles were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, eerie light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every stop they took. Harry shivered and pulled his robes tight around him, wincing as he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping on an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be _music_?" Neville whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," the twinkle in Nick's eyes belied his mournful tone. "Welcome, welcome…so pleased you could come." He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside. "Do, please, enjoy yourselves," he called after them.

Harry bumped into Hermione as the girl jerked to a stop. He peered around her shoulders, feeling his eyes go wide. _I'd forgotten about this_.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, most of whom were drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Harry's breath rose in a mist before him; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry was the first to speak.

"Careful not to walk though anyone," Draco hissed at them. "Mother said it's quite the insult. And bow, or er, curtsy?" He glanced at Hermione. "It's only polite. Or so Mother says."

"Curtsy?" Hermione squeaked.

"Well, they have been dead for ages," Theo pointed out.

"Fine, then you curtsy. I'll bow," Hermione sniffed. Theo sputtered.

They passed a group of gloomy nuns and a ragged man wearing chains. They stopped to exchange pleasantries with the Fat Friar and his friend, a knight whose name Harry didn't catch, since he'd been too occupied with eyeing the arrow that protruded from the man's forehead.

"Oh, look, the Baron!" Draco made a beeline for the gaunt Slytherin House ghost.

Harry shared a look with Neville as they followed the Slytherins over to the ghost's empty corner.

"Baron, please allow me to introduce my friends," Draco said once they arrived. "You know Theo, and this is Miss Hermione Granger, Mr. Neville Longbottom and Mr. Harry Potter." Then Draco mouthed at them to bow. They did, even Hermione, much to Theo's mortified expression.

"Interesting," the Bloody Baron rumbled. The silver bloodstains on the ghost's doublet glittered in the strange light. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, voice faint. "It's a pleasure, for us as well. I'm sure."

Harry froze as the ghost turned to him. "A Potter at a deathday party. Extraordinary. Your lot are usually up top, feasting."

Harry felt his back go stiff. "I am more than just a name or a family line," he bit out at the ghost. He thought he saw the sunken eyes crinkle a little.

"As all young men and women should learn," the Bloody Baron drew back into his corner.

"The Baron has been a fixture in the common room since last year," Draco chimed in. "He's excellent at Transfiguration."

"Is that where you've been getting tutoring?" Hermione perked up.

"The Baron was kind enough to help us with some pointers," Draco's tone went guarded.

"Oh, _really_? How wonderful."

"Yes, _really_."

"And you didn't see fit to tell us?"

"Slytherin House has solidarity," the Baron broke in. "As the House's reputation has tarnished over the years, prejudice is commonplace. We help our own, Miss Granger, and expect no help from others."

"But," Hermione sputtered. "We're _friends_. Of course we could help you out!"

Nearly Headless Nick arrived before any of the Slytherins could reply. "There you are, there you are!" He came to a stop next to Harry. "Oh, hello, Baron. I hope you're all enjoying yourselves."

"Oh, yes," Harry answered for them.

"Excellent. It's not a bad turnout, you know," Nick's chest puffed out as he turned to survey the crowd. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent, can you believe it? It's nearly time for my speech, now, do stay to hear it. I'd better go warn the orchestra…"

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement as a hunting horn sounded off in the distance.

"Oh, here we go," Nick swept off his hat and slapped it against his leg.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly burst into applause. Harry held back at the sight of Nick's face, as did the others.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd and strode over to Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" He roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?" He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome Patrick," said Nick stiffly.

"Live 'uns!" The Head of the Hunt turned to Harry and the others. Harry caught sight of Hermione latched onto Theo's arm and Draco standing in front of Neville, almost like a guard. The Bloody Baron had vanished.

"They are my guests," said Nick, drawing himself up.

"I'm sure they are, Nicky. Don't mind the sourpuss, Miss," Sir Patrick leaned towards Hermione, his head falling off in the process. "See, Nick's still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But, I do say, _look_ at the man, not quite the type, you know?"

"Sir Nicholas is far more terrifying than _you_," Hermione edged away from the head that had reached the hem of her robes.

"Ha!" The ghost's head yelled. "Bet he asked you to say that!"

"Certainly _not_."

"If I could have everyone's attention, please, it's time for my speech!" Nick stepped in between Patrick and Hermione. "My late lamented lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is to my great sorrow…"

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick's body scooped up his head and joined the rest of the Hunt on the dance floor, starting up a game of Head Hockey. The cheers from the Hunt drowned out Nick and the Gryffindor House ghost soon lost the crowd's interest. Nearly Headless Nick tried in vain to recapture the audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

"Oh, for…" Nick's shoulders slumped.

"I thought it was a very nice party," Hermione offered. "Until they came."

That seemed to cheer the ghost up. "Why thank you, Miss Granger." He looked them up and down. "The atmosphere has been ruined, you could say. Thank you again for coming. But it would probably be best if you young ones went back up to the feast, now."

"But…"

"No, no, Mr. Malfoy. You all have made me very happy. Please, go on, now. Before things get," Nick scowled. "_Rowdy_."

They said their hasty good byes after that warning. Harry led the way back up the passage full of black candles, trying to rub feeling back into his hands.

"That was _quite_ the experience," he heard Hermione say from behind him. "I'll have to check the library to see if there are any other descriptions of a deathday party."

"My mother's parents used to have a picnic in the cemetery on Halloween," he heard Theo say. "My father refused to let us go, but Mother used to tell me about them. We didn't have any family ghosts, though."

"Maybe we'll be in time for dessert," Draco said.

Then Harry heard it. …_Rip…tear…kill_…

_No_, cold speared though his gut. _Oh, oh _no. _The basilisk. _He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall.

"Harry?"

"What's the matter?"

"Are you all right?"

_…so hungry…time to kill…_

"Harry. Harry?"

"Hush!" He dug his hand into the stone. _I've got to stop it. Oh, Merlin. It could kill someone this time_…

"Hush? Hush what? Harry?"

Harry shook off Draco's arm as he heard the basilisk's sibilant hiss once more. He took off after it, heart hammering in his throat. _Maybe. I can blast it. No. Its scales are too hard. If I can put out its eyes, then maybe_…

"Where are you _going_? Harry!"

"There's something here," he snapped back at them. "It – I can hear it. You should too. Hissing. Like a great snake. But I can tell what it's saying," he lied and tore on. _Maybe I can find it now_. "Stay behind me!" He called over his shoulder, ignoring their jumbled questions.

_Maybe I can find Ginny, too, _Harry's heart thumped. _I can get her to Dumbledore and he can look into her mind and see what's happening and then he can call in Aurors and _they _can take care of the basilisk, and_…

Harry took a corner and felt his foot slip. He went down with a yelp, hands slapping down into a pool of something slick. He flinched away from the drops that hit his face, already knowing by the bright, metallic scent that he had landed in blood.

_Merlin. Not again_.

"Harry? Harry! What – oh my god!" Hermione's voice spiraled up into a shriek.

Harry raised his head. Foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE!

_I'm too late_, Harry wanted to pound the floor. _But, wait,_ _this should be water, not blood._ Heart in his mouth, Harry looked up, expecting to see a Petrified Mrs. Norris. Instead there was a large sow, split neck to groin, intestines spilling down to the floor. It was pig's blood he lay in. Still warm.

_This is different_, Harry felt panic settle in his gut. _Oh, Merlin, this is _worse_. What – did the spirit – how did Ginny do this? How_…

He heard people shouting in the background. Hands tried to help him up, snapping him out of his daze.

"Come on," Draco and Neville were trying to get him up. "Harry, are you hurt? What…"

A rumble cut him off. Harry scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs. The feast had just ended. Harry had a moment to exchange horrified glances with Draco, and then the student body was upon them.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise, died immediately. Harry and the others stood alone, in the middle of the corridor.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, mudbloods! You and all your blood traitor friends, too!" Pansy Parkinson had pushed her way to the front of the crowd, eyes fixed on Draco with malicious glee.

"Oh, bugger all," Harry breathed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Argus Filch shouldered his way through the crowd. He jerked back at the sight of Harry, and the others. "_You_. What have you done? Do you have any idea how long it's going to take me to –"

"Argus," Dumbledore's voice cut the man off. The professors had arrived on the scene. In seconds, the old wizard had swept past Harry and flicked out a spell that unhooked the gutted pig from the wall bracket.

"Prefects, see your Houses to their dormitories. Mr. Potter, you and the others will come with me."

"But…"

"My office is nearest," Lockhart jumped in. "It's just upstairs, please feel free."

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore nodded. The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Harry glared at a smug-looking Pansy Parkinson, whose grin slipped as she stepped back. Harry and the others were followed by Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls, causing Harry to flinch. _Damn war ticks_, he shook his head. He caught sight of several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back.

Dumbledore's wand guided the gutted sow onto the pristine wood. The three professors crowded close to the ruined body as Harry sank down onto one of the desk seats.

The professors were bent close to the body – all but Lockhart. The Defense professor chose to stay back and offer suggestions from the edge of the candlelight. "It was definitely a curse that killed it – probably the Transmogrifian Torture – I've seen it used so many times…"

"Do tell," said Snape, not looking up.

"Looks like something serrated did the cutting. I'm not sure if it was a blessing that it was stunned before it was slashed open. If the sow was still alive, we'd not be able to tell what kind of weapon was used." McGonagall's tone was flat, devoid of inflection. Harry flinched to hear it – it reminded him of the war, both wars, when the woman would help Poppy and the others and –

_Stop thinking about it,_ Harry registered that he had started to tremble, but could not seem to stop it.

"…I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," rambled Lockhart. "A series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…"

"Lockhart," Snape snapped. "Shut up."

The real Lockhart, along with all the rest in his paintings, gaped at the man. Lockhart snapped his mouth shut with a click, eyes narrowing at Snape in a brief, fierce glare. Harry blinked. _That's odd_.

"Harry?" Hermione crouched down in front of him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, fine," Harry managed.

"Fine, is he?" Filch said from the door. "Fine for causing a mess and a scare and –"

"No second year could have done this, Argus," Dumbledore stepped away from the body.

"He's covered all over with blood and we all found him in front of the thing!"

"If it was a curse that did this, it would take Dark Magic of the most advanced kind," Dumbledore stared at Filch from over his glasses. "However, I am of the mind that this…butchering was done by hand. As you can see, Mr. Potter would never be able to lift this body, let alone immobilize it long enough to kill it."

"But – but -"

"It was killed in the hall," Harry said, his mind feeling a little like cotton had been wrapped around it.

"Harry?"

"The blood was warm when I fell," he blinked, shuddering at the memory. "Blood's not warm for long, after a thing dies."

Hermione was pushed aside as Snape took her place. "Mr. Potter," he snapped his fingers in front of Harry's nose. Harry couldn't even flinch.

_What is wrong with me_? _I've seen so much worse, this shouldn't even phase me – why_ –

"Potter," Snape shook him.

"Severus," McGonagall's voice was sharp.

"What were you doing in the hall, Potter?"

"Sir, we…"

"Be _silent_, Draco."

"But…"

"Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party," Harry intoned. _Snap out of it_, _you fool_! He frowned and tried to pull away from Snape's hold.

"A deathday party?" Dumbledore said.

"Why did you not return to the feast, after?" Snape demanded.

"There was a noise," Hermione jumped in. "Harry said he could hear it and I thought I did too after he said –"

"A noise?"

"Hissing. Like a great snake, that's what Harry said," Neville offered.

"Potter?" Snape gave him another small shake.

"Stop it," Harry shook his head. He felt like he was moving through molasses. "I don't like being shaken."

He saw Snape frown and then his gaze swept over Harry's robes. "You are covered in blood, Potter."

"I know," Harry blinked, eyelids feeling like they'd been dabbed with glue. "But it washes out."

"Sir," Hermione turned to Dumbledore. "Something's not right with Harry."

Snape took up Harry's hands and turned them over. "Blast," he heard the man mutter. "He has cuts on his palms."

"Then he did do it!" Filch crowed.

"No, you imbecile," Snape growled. "It means the blood of the animal has mingled with Potter's. If there was a potion or a spell on the blood…"

"Merlin," McGonagall gasped.

"Out of my way." Before Harry could react, Snape had picked him up and was headed out the door.

What the hell?

"Language, Potter."

"I said that out loud?"

"Yes."

"Bugger."

"I would normally take points, Potter, but school rules disallow any punishment for things said under the influence of foreign potions or spells."

"Good for me, then."

"Be silent, you idiot child."

Harry could feel the strange pull on his body, now. _Is it a drug? Merlin, last time_…he cut the thought off, unsure whether he was talking out loud or not. He fisted a hand in Snape's robes as the world started to spin. _What is going on_?

Harry had his eyes screwed shut and was close to hyperventilating by the time Snape got them to the Infirmary. There were panicked voices in the background – he thought he heard Neville and Draco shouting. Harry wouldn't let go of his hold on Snape's robes – there was something important about it. Something – he couldn't remember, but Snape was there and Snape – there was – but he never – Snape _hated_ Harry and –

Everything went dark.

* * *

Waking up took a lot of effort. Harry shuddered, feeling as though he'd been put through a blender.

"Harry?"

He cracked an eye to see Theo hovering at the bedside. Beyond the boy, Harry saw Hermione slumped in a chair. Several beds around him were occupied, all filled with students.

"What," he croaked and had to stop.

Pomfrey was there before Theo could respond. The nurse cast spell after spell on him, each time easing the tension on her face bit by bit.

"Much better," she finally announced. "Severus' potion did the trick. Take this and this," she shoved two vials at him. "Right now. I have to tell Severus." Then she was off.

Harry boggled at her for a moment, but then Theo was trying to pour the potions down his throat. Harry waved him off and tossed them back, making a face at the taste.

"Harry?" Hermione had woken when Pomfrey had arrived.

Harry reached for the water. "Yeah."

"Oh, thank Merlin."

"What happened?"

"There was poison in the blood," Hermione said. Harry could see the dark shadows under her eyes. "If you got any on you, it affected you."

"Affected?"

"People started to go mental," Theo said. "Some of the students walked through the blood by accident. There was a huge row in Gryffindor and some Slytherins got cursed."

"What?"

"It was awful," Hermione leaned forward. "Even Professor Snape was affected, but he just got weird and found an antidote. He called it a piss-poor botched poison and a load of other nasty words I don't think he meant to say."

Harry blinked. "Did I…say anything?"

Hermione glanced at Theo, who looked away. "Not…not really."

"Hermione."

"Well, you were drugged, Harry."

"Hermione."

She ducked her head. "Snape said – well, he said a lot of things, but he said that because you cut your hands when you fell, the botched poison did a better job on you."

"A better…job?"

"You threw up a lot," Theo shrugged. "And screamed. Something about not again, not again and…" he bit his lip.

_Blast it all_, Harry closed his eyes for a long moment. "What else did I say?" He opened his eyes.

"Just that – you had to find it, you had to stop it," Theo's gaze was glued to the covers on Harry's bed. "You kept saying that it wasn't safe and that we all had to be careful and not look. That's all."

"You were drugged," Hermione said, reaching out to take his hand. "A lot of people were raving. It's okay."

Harry had to look away. He caught sight of Snape in the doorway, staring at him. Something twisted in Harry's gut as he snapped his gaze from the advancing man. _At least I didn't blab everything,_ he let out a shaky breath. _Merlin knows what would have happened, then_.

But… "A botched poison?" He looked up to Hermione as the Potions Master arrived at Harry's bedside.

"Yes," Snape said before the girl could answer. "Whomever slaughtered the sow also poisoned the blood. A shock and awe effect, as it were. Are you _sure_ you saw no one at the scene when you arrived, Potter?"

Harry bit his lip, torn. _There is no way Ginny could have done this_. "I'm sorry, no. I was – it was just there when I turned the corner and I was expecting a snake or something, not a person or – or – that."

Snape's frown was harsh. "You are completely certain?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Snape waved the apology off with short, angry movements. "You said you were expecting a snake?"

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione. "Yes, sir."

"You both heard this hissing?"

Harry hesitated. "Yes, sir."

"Potter."

"It was definitely hissing, Professor," Hermione lied to the man's face. Harry stared at the girl.

Snape glared at them. "A snake," he repeated.

All Harry could do was shrug and nod. _Maybe this will get the professors to actually look for the problem instead of making me handle it,_ the thought didn't reassure him.

Madam Pomfrey let Harry escape by lunch. Snape kept dropping by to stare at him and ask questions Harry couldn't – or wouldn't – answer.

Harry didn't really want to leave after he found out that both Draco and Neville were also in the ward. Both of them had had a stronger reaction to the blood because they had helped Harry to his feet and into the classroom, but Snape's antidote had done fast, efficient work on all the other students who had been infected.

"It's all right, Harry," Draco told him. "We'll be out faster than you."

It wasn't quite how it all turned out, since Harry learned that Snape had force-fed him the first batch of the antidote. All of it.

"And it's a good thing he did," Hermione told him as she helped Harry to the dorms. "Anything else and Pomfrey said you would have gone into a coma."

Harry made a face and let it pass.

Snape's further doses of the antidote did the trick. Neville was helped into the dorm by Hermione after supper.

For the following days, all the school could talk about was the Incident. Filch had been bedridden with the students, so the message had stayed on the wall.

Hermione was also in a flurry of study. Harry recognized her 'research mode' only from being her friend for decades. It used to drive Ron mad, Harry remembered with a dying smile. In fact, it was one of the things they fought about most.

Ron, Harry had realized years later, was just as bad as his mother when it came to tradition and family. Ron had believed that Hermione would quit her job with the Ministry when their first child was born. Hermione had taken time off, yes, but was back to work just as soon as she could stand it. She was a terrific mother, Harry had told Ron again and again. She was Hermione. Of course she was amazing. She could do anything.

Ron had not agreed.

_Who even knows if those two will get together this time around_, Harry swallowed a disappointed sigh. Then a chill spread down his spine. _Merlin. If they don't get together, then what will happen to Hugo and Rose and_…He bit his lip and drew in a sharp breath. _Remember what Ollivander said, Harry. All souls will live again. They'll live again, and maybe…maybe Ron and Hermione will get together, and still be their parents. Even if they don't, there's no point in despairing, not yet_.

Classes went on as they always did. Most of the students were out of the Infirmary by the end of the weekend. Snape was also getting on Harry's case in Potions, often keeping him behind to scrub desks or sort ingredients for whatever infraction the man had spotted that day.

The other students were also reacting to Harry. _Again_. He scowled, which ended up making some first year Hufflepuffs run in the opposite direction. _Just bloody great_, he sighed. _More rumors will spread now, for sure_.

Hermione, Neville, Draco and Theo were the few who treated him the same. Pansy Parkinson, from what Harry had gathered from his friends, had become the queen bee of the second year girls. Draco wouldn't say much about her, Theo disliked her and Hermione had been oddly quiet on the topic. _Pansy always was a bully_, Harry reflected. _Maybe she was miserable to Hermione when Neville and I weren't there. Ambush and humiliation used to be Pansy's modus operandi_. _I'm sure it hasn't changed this time around_.

Still, Harry had expected Hermione to be the one to bring up the subject of the Chamber of Secrets in Binns' class – but he turned out to be wrong. Theo beat her to the punch.

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Binns blinked a few time times, surprised out of his lecture by Theo's sudden question. "My subject is the History of Magic, Mr. Nott. I deal with _facts_, not myths and legends." It was the most animated Harry had ever heard the ghost.

"But sir," Theo forged on. "Don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

"Well," Binns frowned. "Yes, one could argue that. However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale…"

"Please, sir?" Hermione chimed in. Binns looked startled at the sudden show of interest from the class.

"Well," the ghost stammered. "Very well. Let's see. You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago – the precise date is uncertain – by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, took in the rapt expressions of the class and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magical families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor and Slytherin left the school."

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," Binns said after a pause. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing."

Binns cleared his throat and continued. "Slytherin, according to legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true Heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

_Looking back_, Harry rested his chin on his palm, _Slytherin's paranoia did have grounds. Muggle-born students had parents who were non-magical, and in those times it was dangerous to be a wizard. He would ultimately be proved wrong, of course, but Slytherins always have had a good sense of self-preservation_.

Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Sir, what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," answered Binns in his dry, reedy voice. "But I tell you, the thing does not exist. The castle has been searched many times to no avail. There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true Heir, no one else _would_ be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense," said Binns. "If a long succession of Hogwarts' Headmasters and Headmistresses haven't found the thing…"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil. "You'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it."

"Just because a wizard _doesn't_ use Dark Magic doesn't mean he _can't_, Miss Patil," snapped Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore –"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't –," began Dean Thomas.

"That will do," Binns said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you all such a foolish story. We will return, if you please, to _history_, to solid, believable, reliable _fact_."

Binns returned to his notes with a scowl. _The problem about history_, Harry thought as he slid down in his seat, _is that it is mostly written by the victors. What is the verifiable truth from only one, single perspective_?

Harry was unable to concentrate on anything for the rest of class.

* * *

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Harry heard Ron say as History of Magic let out. Harry grabbed Draco's arm before the other boy could go after Ron.

"Let it go," he advised.

"Easy for you to say, he's not insulting the founder of your House," Draco pulled his arm out of Harry's grip and stalked away, Theo running to catch up with him.

"Well," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Harry sighed. They were up against the wall with Neville, watching as the crush of students rushed by. "Let's go drop off our stuff."

As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevey went past. "Hiya, Harry!"

"Hello, Colin," Harry called.

"Harry- Harry – there's somebody in my class saying you're the Heir -," but Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him towards the Great Hall. They heard him squeak, "See you, Harry!" And he was gone.

"People think you're the Heir?" Neville choked.

"Ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry just shrugged.

"Do you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Neville asked as they dropped off their bags.

"I don't know," Hermione said, frowning. "Dumbledore _surely_ would have found it by now. But…he couldn't cure the curse on the – the blood, so who ever could do that _has_ to be powerful."

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the pig had been butchered. The words were still splashed across the wall, the blood turned rusty brown and flaking off onto the stone floor.

"Well," Hermione's voice was faint. "It can't hurt to have a look around, would it?"

"Hermione, no, it's cornered off," Harry caught the back of her robe. "What if the curse has left a residue? I don't want you to get ill."

"But…"

"Why is the floor wet?" Neville made a face. "It's coming from that door." He pointed.

"Door? What door – oh. That's the girl's toilet, the one Moaning Myrtle haunts." Hermione made a face. "No one ever uses it." She tilted her head to one side. "Come on. Let's ask Myrtle if she saw anything."

"Stop right where you are!" Percy Weasley's voice rang out before they could take a step. Harry jumped and turned.

"What are you lot doing here? Can't you see the place has been roped off? It's _contaminated, _come _along_, the last thing Gryffindor needs is you all caught near here again…"

Hermione subsided under Percy's chiding. Harry followed along silently, glancing back a few times at the toilet. _Slytherin had one twisted sense of humor_, he shook his head and trotted to catch up with the others.

* * *

"Who could it be, though?" Hermione asked out of the blue at their nightly study session in the library.

"What are you on about?" Theo lowered his book. Draco still wasn't speaking to Harry, even though Harry had apologized and told the other boy he hadn't meant to insult Slytherin House.

"The Heir," Hermione rolled her eyes. "There's a rumor that Harry's the Heir."

Draco snorted.

"But we all know it's nonsense."

"Professor Snape said that the pig had been stunned before it was butchered," Theo said, eyes narrowing. "Who in the school would be able to do that?"

"Or would want to?" Hermione drummed her fingers on her textbook. "They would really have to hate Muggle-borns and everything to kill a living thing like that, wouldn't they?"

"No," Harry kept his gaze on the parchment of his essay. "Some people just hate. They hate everything and everyone, and even themselves. Some people just want others to suffer like they suffer. There is rarely any logic to hate."

"Harry," Hermione said, voice soft.

"You're not going to blame everyone in Slytherin?" Draco spoke to him for the first time that night.

"No," Harry rolled his eyes. "I think the pigeon-hole definitions of the Houses are silly. We all have traits that fit into each House. And each House has their strengths and weaknesses. Just because the Heir is supposed to be of the line of Slytherin doesn't mean he or she isn't a Hufflepuff."

Theo snickered. Draco had set his pen aside. "There are a lot of people who don't like Muggle-borns," Draco frowned and glanced at Hermione. "In just about every House, not just Slytherin."

"True," Harry agreed. "Just like there are people in every House that have no problem with them."

"True," Draco said.

"There are any number of possibilities," Harry frowned down at his essay. "Attempting to solve the rumor as to whether or not it's true is impossible without more facts and information."

"Information," Hermione echoed. "Do you think the Restricted Section would have more information on curses and poisons that use blood?"

"The Restricted Section? You need a pass for that area," Theo said.

"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione flapped a hand at him. "But do you think there are books about it?"

Harry saw the Slytherins exchange a look. "Probably," said Draco.

"_Hmm_," Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"We'll never get Professor Snape's approval," Theo said. "Even Draco couldn't get it. The professor would want to keep the book when we're not using it. Then he'll make us write an essay on whatever excuse we could think up to get our hands on the book in the first place. If he didn't see through the ruse immediately."

"You're right," Hermione murmured, not catching Theo's double-take. "We'd need to find another way around Snape…" She tapped her fingers a few times and shook her head. "I'll think about it."

Harry saw Theo blink. "Like a professor will fall for a Gryffindor scam."

"Watch me."

"Oh, I will."

Harry laughed silently and shook his head. He still couldn't decide if having Theodore Nott and Hermione Granger be friends was a good idea or not.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures into class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. Harry had tried to duck away from the man's interest, but he still ended up being called upon by Lockhart to help with the reenactments. Harry suffered a second time through being a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

_Bugger all but I hate this man_, Harry thought for the hundredth time as he was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense class. He was supposed to be a werewolf. Harry wanted to brain Lockhart instead.

"Nice loud howl, Harry, very good, and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced, like this, _slammed_ him to the floor – thus – with one hand, I managed to hold him down – with my other, I put my wand to his throat – I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm – he let out a piteous moan, come on, Harry…"

Harry tuned the man out, laying limp under the man's hands. _You know, _he reflected_, I never remembered Lockhart being this creepy_, _let alone touchy-feely. Was I just blocking it out or is this new_? _Either way, the man had better move his hand or I'll_…

The bell rang and Lockhart's southward drift to his hands vanished. Lockhart got to his feet and clapped his hands. "Homework! To compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of _Magical Me_ to the author of the best one!"

Harry rolled his eyes at Neville, causing the other boy to grin and duck his head.

Harry turned to watch as Hermione pushed her way up to Lockhart's desk. Theo had stopped to watch, too, stalling Draco's escape out the door. Harry bit back the huge grin that was threatening to take over his face.

"Professor Lockhart!" Hermione had been quiet on the subject of the Restricted Section pass for a few days, even with Theo teasing her about it.

"Ah, Miss Granger! How are you today? I'll be looking forward to your poem!" Lockhart's smile was all shiny white teeth as he winked at her.

"Yes, sir. See, um," Harry raised his eyebrows as Hermione stammered convincingly. "I wanted to – to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading," she held out a piece of paper, hand trembling. _Nice touch_, Harry bit his lip. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it – I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in _Gadding with Ghouls_ so much the better."

"Ah, _Gadding with Ghouls_!" Lockhart took the note from her, still smiling. "Possibly my favorite book. You enjoyed it?"

"O-oh yes," Hermione bit her lip. "It was so clever, the way you trapped that last one with a tea strainer."

"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," Lockhart preened, pulling out an enormous peacock quill. "Lovely, isn't it? I use it for signings." He scrawled out an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.

"Thank you," Harry caught her smug tone as she slipped the note into her bag. He also caught sight of Theo's open-mouthed stare.

However, lingering to watch Hermione play Lockhart like a fiddle also meant there was time for the man's gaze to fall on Harry before he could flee through the door.

"Harry!" Lockhart stood. "Tomorrow's the big day, isn't it? First Quidditch match of the season. And young master Malfoy?" Lockhart's smile was wide and a touch manic. "You'll be there too, won't you? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? Now this _shall_ be a fun game to watch. You know, I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to play for the National Squad, but I preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if either of you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask!"

Harry ducked his head, grunted and scattered out of class. The Slytherins took off before he could say anything. He did see Theo glance back a few times at Hermione.

"We'll have to wait until later for their help, I suppose," Hermione sighed. "At least we have the pass, now."

"Pass for what?" Neville asked as they headed for the library.

"Everything," Hermione breezed past them. "There's an open research pass Madam Pince accepts. I checked the rules. It's all in order."

Harry had to laugh as he followed her into the library.

* * *

Saturday dawned bright and early. Harry ate with his miserable-looking teammates in silence, not sure if he should try to reassure them. In the end, he stayed quiet, using the calm moment before the storm to help center his thoughts.

_At least Dobby won't be here to charm that Bludger,_ Harry took a deep breath as he suited. _Stay positive, Harry. You can do this_.

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day, with a hint of thunder in the air.

As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and whistles heard, too. Madam Hooch asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening glares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three…two…one…"

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the laden sky. Harry shot past all of them, eyes alight for the Snitch. He'd been unable to catch Draco's gaze before the match whistle – but Harry knew the other boy would try his best.

He caught sight of Draco tracing a careful search pattern through the pitch. _Well done_, Harry bit back the urge to call out. _He's actually playing this time instead of sitting back and laughing at me. Very well done_.

Of course, that made Harry's job both harder – and more fun. It was going to be a real challenge to snatch the Snitch away from an intent Draco, who had a better broom and was less likely to stop and rag Harry this time around.

Harry went high, in his usual haunts. He pushed his glasses up his nose and narrowed his eyes, scanning the area.

"Harry!" Fred's shout caused Harry to jump. He spotted the Bludger at the last second, avoiding it by inches as he rolled his broom.

"Sorry, mate!" Fred whipped past him, followed by a brutish Slytherin Beater.

_Weird_, was all Harry had time to muse as he sighted a glint of gold. He dove, shooting through the mad rush of the game, even as Slytherin scored again with the Quaffle.

He was almost on it when a body crashed into his. Harry sputtered as their brooms went spinning off.

"Draco!" he shouted.

"You idiot!" The blond howled back at him.

"Me?"

"You didn't even see the –"

Harry dove for the Slytherin. "Bludger!"

Draco shot off. Harry moved, but too late he spotted the malicious expression on a Slytherin seventh year, wand out and pointed at the Bludger.

_Oh for crying out loud_, Harry zipped away, the Bludger hot on his heels. _Not this, too_. _I thought those blasted things were supposed to be spell-proof! How are they controlling the Bludger_?

Harry shot around the park. Fred showed up at his elbow and with a tremendous _crack_ sent the Bludger flying.

"Close one, Harry!" said George, streaking past him.

Harry rolled and dove, hoping that if he stayed in constant motion, the Slytherin-charmed Bludger would be unable to follow him.

No such luck. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot for Harry's head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him.

Fred was waiting for the Bludger at the far end of the park. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; it was knocked off course.

"Gotcha!" Fred crowed, but too soon, since the Bludger's path veered around and headed straight back at Harry.

It started to rain. Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses. He squinted through the distortion, still scanning for the Snitch.

Fred and George had taken up stations on either side of him. "Someone's had to have tampered with the thing!" Fred called as they knocked the rogue Bludger away once more. Harry couldn't find the breath to agree with him, nor point out the Slytherin seventh-year he'd spotted in the crowd.

"We need a time out," George yelled over the rush of wind.

"No," Harry cut in, suddenly furious. _I have nearly had it with time and its tricks_. "Fred, George, go help the team."

"Are you barmy? The Bludger will kill you!"

"With you two flying around me, I'll never find the Snitch. Once it's found, Hooch will call the game and the Bludger will come down."

"Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off!"

"Fred, please."

"Don't you have _any_ care about your own bloody health?"

"I will be _fine_. Just go help the team before we lose so many points that me catching the Snitch won't help!"

"But…"

"Fred, _please_." Harry looked over to see both of the boys scowling.

"Fine," said George. "Be careful, Harry. I mean it."

Harry gave them a tight nod and they zoomed off, rejoining the fray.

The drizzle had become a downpour. Harry bent left, hearing the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged and rolled.

There was laughter from the crowd, but none from either team on the pitch. Once, Harry thought he saw Draco shouting at Flint, but had to look away. Madam Hooch had the master charms to the Bludgers. They would react to her alone. _Or they should have_.

The flash of gold caught his eye. It was hovering in the teacher's section, right next to Lockhart's ear as the man pointed and laughed at Harry.

"Look out!"

Draco's call gave Harry enough warning to avoid the Bludger. Harry dove, feeling vaguely guilty that he hadn't clued Draco in to where the Snitch was hiding. _Playing a legitimate game between us would have been nice._

There was a shocked gasp from the crowd. Harry heard it seconds before the Bludger slammed into his elbow. He heard the bone snap; even as the pain filled his mouth with saliva and the need to vomit.

The professors were on their feet. Harry clung to his broom as he dove for Lockhart, the driving need to get the Snitch and end the game the only clear thought in his mind.

He made a wild grab for the Snitch. He heard Lockhart shout and a spell hit Harry's other side. A weak form of a blasting curse. _Figures_, Harry thought as he tumbled from his broom. _Lockhart really was useless in everything except Memory Charms_.

With a splattering thud, he landed. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle and his side was on fire. As if at a distance, Harry could hear the roar of the crowd and people cheering. Harry held up the Snitch, "We've won," he croaked.

And then fainted.

He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying in the stands. He also seemed to be ground zero for a rather spectacular row between Snape and Lockhart.

"Useless, worthless hack who –"

"Really, Severus, such language…"

"A blasting charm on a student –"

"Nonsense, I would never…"

"Medic," Harry croaked. "And? That hurt."

"Ah, look who's come around!" Lockhart spun to Harry. "Spectacular dive, lad. What a start you've given us. Can't blame an experienced Defense Professor for an itchy wand, now can you lad?"

"Can I go to the hospital wing now?" Harry directed the question at Snape.

"Ah, now, now, I'll have you know I helped out in a hospital once, almost became a medi-wizard, I'll fix your arm up just right…"

"Please," Harry shot a look at Snape. _ I want to keep my bones in my arm, I want to_…

"Stand back!" Lockhart announced.

"Lockhart," Snape turned to the man, but Lockhart's spell shot from his lips and hit Harry's arm.

A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. Harry sank back onto the rough wood of the stands with a whimper. _Bloody hell_, he closed his eyes. _Not again_.

"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well. That can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken! That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, why don't you just trot up to the hospital wing like a good lad and…"

"Shut up, Lockhart," Snape snarled. The Potions Master snapped out a series of spells. Harry found himself on the way to the hospital wing before he could do more than open his eyes.

As they left, Harry was pretty sure he heard Hermione shout, "What do you mean he removed the bones!"

* * *

Madam Pomfrey was not pleased. "He should have been brought straight to me," she raged at Snape. "I can mend bones in a second – but growing them back…"

"You'll be able to, right?" Harry twisted a look up at her. _Try to act like you don't know about Skele-Gro, Harry. You can't afford to tip them off_.

"Of course, but it will be painful."

Harry shrugged. "That's okay."

Pomfrey blinked at him a few times.

"Will I have to stay here?" Harry prompted.

"Yes," Pomfrey exchanged a look with Snape that Harry couldn't read.

"Okay," Harry looked between them. "Shall I get changed?"

Pomfrey got him a set of pajamas and drew the curtain around the bed. Snape hadn't moved.

_Oh, hell no_. "Sir? I can manage. Thank you for the help to the hospital wing."

"How do you imagine you shall be able to change into the clothes Poppy has brought you, Potter? Don't be absurd. Hurry it up."

"But."

"Now, Potter."

The hot flush of embarrassment crashed over Harry. _I don't want to change in front of him_, Harry turned his back to the man and fumbled with his robes.

Snape, to Harry's relief, was brief and professional with his assistance. The hardest part was getting Harry's rubbery arm into his pajama top. Harry scrambled into the bed before Snape could attempt to help. He tucked the strange-feeling appendage under the covers as Pomfrey returned with a large bottle of Skele-Gro.

"You're in for a rough night," she told him, pouring out a steaming beaker full and handing it over. "Down in one gulp, there's a lad. Don't try to smell it."

Harry gagged down the liquid under Snape's sharp gaze. Madam Pomfrey left, allowing Hermione and Neville to crowd in next to the silent professor. Harry hadn't seen them come in.

"All right, Harry?" Hermione put a hand on his ankle and then snatched it back.

Harry polished off the last of the water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "My ankle's all right, Hermione. I'm fine. Madam Pomfrey's going to fix me up just like new."

Snape snorted, causing them all to look at him. "Gryffindors," was all the man said and stalked off.

"What's his problem, now?" Harry rubbed at his face.

"Well, we did just beat Slytherin," Neville pointed out.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione cut in.

The door to the hospital wing burst open before Harry could reassure her. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry.

"Unbelievable flying," said George. They had brought cakes, sweets and bottles of pumpkin juice. The team had gathered around the bed, trapping Hermione and Neville into their impromptu party. Madam Pomfrey gave them half an hour before shooing everyone out. Harry asked Pomfrey for a sleep aid and was out like a light as the stabbing pains started to prick up and down his arm.

Hours later, Harry woke with a start. He had long ago perfected the art of waking without opening his eyes. He cracked open a lid to see a slumped form in the chair next to his bed.

"Draco?" He winced as he sat up. His arm felt full of large splinters trying their best to poke their way through his skin. The slumped form gave a start. Harry fumbled for his glasses. "That you?"

"Harry?"

"Draco." Harry got his glasses on and peered at the other boy. Draco looked _miserable_. "What's wrong? Has something happened? Was someone hurt?"

That earned him a flat, disbelieving stare. "Was someone – yes, you twit, _you_ were hurt! You broke your elbow _and_ caught the Snitch _and_ you could have died and –"

"But was there another attack?" Harry cut in. "Is everyone all right?"

The Slytherin squinted at him. "You make so little sense."

"_Draco_."

"Everyone is fine. Except you."

Harry let out a relieved breath that turned into a hiss. "I'm fine. Or I will be. Just never let Lockhart near me again."

Draco rolled his eyes at him, but Harry could see by the way Draco kept clenching his hands in his robes that something was still upsetting him.

"You did really well today," Harry picked his words with care.

Draco snorted. "No, I lost today."

"You were fine."

"I _lost_, Harry. Flint was all over me about it," he flushed. "You managed to find the Snitch, despite being under attack and with a broken arm!"

"You would have won if your Housemate hadn't charmed that Bludger," Harry countered. Draco glanced at him and then away. "You're _good_, Draco. Trust me. I know."

That got him a long, even stare. "You know," Draco echoed.

"I do," Harry nodded. "Flint's just mad because I'm sure Wood rubbed his face in the loss, that's all."

That earned him another snort and an eye roll. "Those two hate each other."

"Yes, they do."

"You…you really think I'll be a good Seeker, Harry?"

"I know you will be," Harry said firmly. "I can see it."

"Can you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry froze at the sound of Snape's voice. Draco's wide eyes stared back at him.

_Oh for fuck's sake_, Harry glanced beyond the other boy to see Snape advancing towards Harry's bed.

"Um," Harry cursed his ability to go blank at the most inappropriate times. "Professor," he got out before sucking in a sharp breath and clutching at his arm. _I never thought I'd be grateful for a painful interruption._

"Your arm, Potter?"

"Yes, sir." _Obviously, you twit,_ he didn't add.

"Mr. Malfoy, you will head back to the Slytherin dorms or I shall take points."

"Yes, sir," Draco shot from the chair and hurried out of the Infirmary. Harry waved with his good hand as the boy turned to glance at them from the door. Then Draco was gone.

Which left Harry alone with Snape. He glanced up at the man, avoiding the dark eyes and intent stare.

"Was there anything else, sir?" Harry rubbed at his arm, hoping that would relieve some of the ache.

"You say you have seen Mr. Malfoy becoming an excellent Seeker. Is that true?"

Panic made Harry breathless. _I'm no Seer and don't want to be,_ he bit his lip. "I, uh, just meant. Draco – he really, really likes Quidditch, you know? He's sure to work at it until he's the best he can be. That's all."

"Oh, really."

"Yes, sir. That's all I meant."

Whatever Snape was about to say next was cut off by the arrival of Dumbledore and McGonagall. They backed into the Infirmary, levitating a body between them.

Snape spun away, heading for Madam Pomfrey's rooms. Harry clutched at his blankets as the professors maneuvered the Petrified body of Colin Creevey onto a bed.

"What's happened?" Madam Pomfrey came running.

Harry didn't have to wait for an answer. He knew it was Colin that was Petrified and that the professors were now certain that the Chamber of Secrets was open.

And that Harry had failed to keep his friends and housemates safe yet again.


End file.
